With New Eyes
by Fearsome Foursome
Summary: This starts with the plane ride home after "Fold Equity." Cal's bet pushed Gillian too far. Starts funny as he tries to process exactly what Ben and she did last night. Takes a very serious turn, especially after they get home.
1. Chapter 1

With New Eyes

Cal came flying up the plane steps. Wheels were supposed to be up 10 minutes ago. Foster and Reynolds were probably ready to kill him, but they would be happy once he showed them his winnings. Of course he lost the $1 million at roulette. Gillian's look as the ball landed and the chips were removed let him know that maybe, just maybe, he had overstepped his bounds on this one. She turned around without a word and walked out of the casino. He spent the whole time complaining about her smothering him only to prove her exactly right in one fell swoop: He really _was_ an idiot in Vegas.

Only after she disappeared among the casino crowd did he remember how cash poor she said the company was. He didn't pay attention to the numbers; it was her responsibility to handle the bills and books. He hated all that administrative stuff and threw away the financial statements she prepared for him. As he watched her walk away, Cal had sighed, knowing he could make the money back, even though he found poker beyond boring. When he played for Terry, he swore he wouldn't do it again. Now he knew he was in for a long evening. It took awhile to find a good poker game. Those whose money was worth his time either were watching the final table or knew enough about him to deny him a seat. He finally found a group arrogant enough to let him join. It took most of the night, but he made back a good chunk of the lost money. He was ready to see Gillian's face when he handed her the bills.

As he boarded the plane, he noticed the pilot reading the morning paper. "Hello, Dr. Lightman. Mr. Reynolds called earlier to let us know that Dr. Foster and he would be late. I've contacted the tower, and we'll be leaving as soon as they arrive." He checked his watch. "I expect them within the next 15 minutes. Please make yourself comfortable while you wait."

Cal was nonplussed. He was never the one who was early. He never was in the position to wait on others. He wondered what had happened to delay Gillian and Ben. This wasn't like them. He sat down with a magazine only to throw it back on the table and wander around the cabin.

As private planes go, this was top of the line. Nothing second-best about Ellis's taste. It was like having a small apartment at 30,000 feet. There was a small sofa with several comfortable chairs around it. The plane had a bar, dining area, bedroom, and bathroom complete with shower. Cal could have been jammed in the middle seat in coach on a crowded flight surrounded by crying babies for all the attention he was paying to his surroundings. He was too worried about Gillian. And Ben, he added as an after-thought. Nothing about the case could be holding them up. When he last saw Ben he was watching the final table. He hadn't seen Gillian since the stupid bet, but he assumed she had headed to her room to read her new novel. Where were they? He tried to call Gillian, but she didn't pick up. He looked out the window to see Ellis's limo pull up. Now he would get some answers.

The driver opened the back door and helped out Gillian. Cal forgot to blink. She did not look like Gillian was supposed to look. That little black dress, emphasis on _little_, was completely inappropriate for the plane. That was the kind of dress you wore on a date when you didn't expect to be in it for long. Wait a minute. Was she wearing that last night? How did he not notice that?

Ben hurried around from the other side of the car. The two of them were laughing as the driver grabbed their luggage. Ben took the bags from him and threw his arm around Gillian's shoulders. Cal wasn't pleased to see Ben whisper in her ear. Gillian stopped abruptly – Cal smiled; he knew she would be uncomfortable with Ben's presumption – but instead of telling Reynolds to back off, she gave him a sheepish smile and ran back the limo. When she started scrounging around under the seats, Cal swallowed hard and stared down the pilot who had suddenly taken an acute interest in the arrival of his passengers. Didn't Gillian know she should _not_ be bending over in that dress?? The limo driver also seemed to be enjoying the view. Cal started to leave the plane – someone had to protect Gillian and Ben sure wasn't doing it – when Gillian backed out of the limo, throwing up her arms in victory, high heeled shoes dangling from one hand. She ran back to Ben with a huge smile on her face. Cal swallowed hard; Gillian was running around barefoot in last night's dress? He wanted her on the plane, and Ben underneath it, NOW.

Ben and Gillian finally started up the plane's stairs. She got in first. "Charlie!" She gave the pilot a big hug. "You waited for us. You're an angel!" The pilot's smile, which was broad, wavered and disappeared when he saw Cal's reaction to the exchange.

"I was happy to wait for _you_, Dr. Foster." While she moved around the cabin, exclaiming over every luxurious detail as if she hadn't spent five hours in this same exact plane just a few days earlier, the pilot pulled Cal aside. "Dr. Lightman, federal regulations don't allow me to fly if I even suspect someone is, shall we say, incapacitated." Cal handed over several bills from his poker winnings. "I'll let the tower know we're ready for departure."

Cal nodded absently, too busy trying to get her attention. "Gillian."

"Cal! Hi there, Cal! My pal Cal!" She giggled and danced over to him, giving him a little hip bump. Stunned, he turned toward Ben, who was dragging the bags into the plane.

"She's bloody pissed!"

"No, I'm not!" Gillian's posture of righteous indignation ended with a hiccup. "Well, maybe just a little bit." She giggled. "I think the mimosas in the limo might have pushed me over." She tried to glare at Ben, who finally got bags stowed, but her laughter did not fill him with fear.

"Hey, baby, I told you mimosas weren't your best idea, but you insisted."

_Baby_? _**Baby**_?!?

"They were going to charge us for the champagne anyway. I was being eco-hiccup, economical."

"Gillian, it was Ellis's private limo. There was no charge." Ben chuckled, but Cal did not share his amusement.

"Whoops!" Gillian slumped into a chair and fumbled with her seatbelt. Cal thought about letting her struggle for awhile, but when he saw Ben move to help he glared him back to his seat and walked over to her instead. Her smile was beatific even if her eyes were red and her posture swaying.

"How much did you let her drink?" he snarled at Ben as he gently strapped her in.

"Let her? _Let her?!?_ You're kidding, right? Gillian is an adult. I didn't 'let her' do anything. She chose to drink. Now, I did try to dissuade the drinking bet she accepted last night, but she put three guys under the table with tequila shots. It was quite impressive." He smiled at her.

"To be completely honest, those guys were, hiccup, already 2 ½ sheets to the wind. I knew I could take them." Gillian smiled like the cat that ate the canary. Cal was horrified. Gillian?

"Tequila shots? What exactly did you do last night?"

"What didn't we do?" Gillian smiled at Ben. "We started with dinner overlooking those amazing Bellagio fountains."

Ben smiled back. "I still can't believe you haven't seen 'Oceans 11'. That scene by the fountains is famous!"

"I told you I hated Vegas. I stayed away from everything, hiccup, to do with it."

"It's got George Clooney, Brad Pitt, and Matt Damon. Aren't they the trifecta for women's fantasies?"

"That tells you how much I hated Vegas. My other visits weren't as fun as last night." She was rather obvious in her head bob and eye roll toward Cal.

"Well, now when you rent the movie you'll remember the fountains in full effect."

Cal wondered if they even remembered he was on the plane. Cal was particularly annoyed with the friendship developing between these two, and he was very uncomfortable with feeling annoyed. "Then what?" he demanded brusquely.

Gillian's smile got even bigger. "Ben had a connection and got us backstage at a concert."

Cal looked to Ben who mouthed, "Barry Manilow."

Cal started to laugh. "You like Barry Manilow?" Ben shushed him and said, "I don't, but she does."

"I do what?"

Ben said, "Nothing," as Cal said, "like Barry Manilow." Ben yelled to Cal, "Don't say his name!" but it was too late. Gillian started singing:

_Oh, Mandy, well you came and you gave without taking, but I sent you away. Oh, Mandy. Well, you kissed me and stopped me from shaking, and I need you . . ._

"Now you've done it," Ben sighed to Cal.

"What?"

"When you say his name, she starts singing. It was fine in the karaoke bar--"

"You went to a bar?"

"Three, actually, and a tattoo parlor in-between there somewhere." At Cal's expression, Ben reassured him, "She didn't get a tattoo. Well, she thought she wanted one, but I talked her out of it. We just watched for awhile." Cal did not feel reassured. "I would have tackled her if she had insisted on a tattoo. It was bad enough when she entered the karaoke contest."

"Gillian entered a singing contest?"

"She not only entered; she won! Didn't you, Gilly?" As Gillian started to sing again, Cal found himself further down the rabbit hole. _Gilly?_

"You should have seen her, Cal. When she –"

"Don't you dare tell him my secret move, Ben. Don't tell him what put me over the top. I may need it for an office, hiccup, office party."

Ben put his hands up in laughing surrender. "Okay, babe, it's our little secret."

_Babe_ again? _Our little secret_? Cal's world was spinning out of control before his eyes. What in the hell happened?

"Oh no, by all means share." His tone was icy. Ben tried hard not to look amused. Gillian was oblivious.

"No, no, no. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas." She dramatically put her finger to her lips.

"She's right, Cal. It was a "had to be there" moment. I couldn't do it justice."

"Try."

"MAB rules, Ben!"

"What the bloody hell is MAB?"

Ben shrugged. "In our first bar we witnessed a girl getting dumped, by phone, on the eve of her wedding. She was with her girlfriends at her bachelorette party. It wasn't pretty. Gillian wanted to make her feel better and came up with the idea of a new club. She had the entire bar involved. By the time they left I think the jilted bride –"

"Francine."

"Yes, Francine was actually feeling lucky to have escaped her fate."

"MAB?"

"Men are Bastards."

Gillian interjected, "Ben is an honorary member 'cause he got us drinks. He even got a date out of it."

Even though he was getting angrier by the minute, Cal had to chuckle at the irony, "You got lucky at a 'Men are Bastards' meeting?"

Ben blushed. "Gillian saw me noticing Francine's twin sister, and she put in a good word for me. Elena lives in Baltimore. We have plans to meet up this Friday."

Gillian smiled. "You have to call me Saturday. I promised Elena she'd have fun. You know, you're a good guy, Ben Reynolds."

"I have my moments, Gillian Foster."

"She better treat you right or she'll have to, hiccup, answer to me."

Cal chose not to analyze why he was so relieved to hear that Ben made a date while out with Gillian. However, the "good guy" discussion wiped away any smile threatening to take over his face. Just then, Gillian looked around. "Are we going to take off anytime soon?"

"We're already in the air." She looked surprised. "How did I miss the take-off?"

"Oh, you've been flying high a lot longer than the plane has." Cal hoped Ben understood he held him completely responsible for Gillian's predicament.

Charlie announced that they had reached their desired altitude. Ben stood up and reached for Gillian's bag. "Hey, Gillian, why don't you get changed into something more comfortable? It's going to be a long flight home."

She beamed and hopped out of her seat, staggering a little as she tried to walk. "Great idea, Ben!" She started to unzip her dress, but at that point Cal had had more than enough of the show.

"Love, there is a bathroom right over there. You'll want your privacy." So did he as he ripped out Ben's still beating heart. Letting Gillian get out of control like this . . .

Gillian looked at Cal as if he had just discovered the theory of relativity. "You're right, Cal. I will do that."

"Here is a pair of pants and a t-shirt and . . . uh . . . some other things." Ben handed a small pile to her and she kissed him on the cheek before zigzagging her way to the bathroom.

Cal glared at Ben. "Out with it now. What in the hell did you do to her?"

Ben glared back. "What did _I_ do to her? No, man, what did _**you**_ do to her?"

Just then they heard a voice from the bathroom. "Ben, help! My zipper is stuck again."

_Again_?

Cal whipped back to Ben, "You get up to help her, and it will be the last bloody thing you do." Ben thought about arguing, but he had only seen that look in someone's eye once before, and it didn't end well for either party. Anyway, it was quite amusing to see Cal's jealousy rage like this. It was about time Cal realized how he felt about Gillian and did something about it. Suddenly the night's loss of sleep seemed totally worth it.

Cal stomped to the door, but his voice was soothing when he called to Gillian and offered assistance. He left to muffled sounds of a tune that sounded something like "Copacabana", but he couldn't be sure.

By the time he sat down again he was ready to do battle, but Ben was fully prepared to attack first. He launched into Cal before Cal could even take a breath. "I was expecting a nice dinner with a good friend. Frankly, I was expecting to watch the final table, but when I saw Gillian dressed like that I figured she deserved a night out, especially since you had treated her like crap the whole time we've been here." Cal opened his mouth to argue, but Ben shut him up quickly. "Yes, like crap and don't even try to pretend otherwise.

"All that 'smothering' talk as if she just lives to rain on your parade. I see a woman who has on many occasions been forced to save your sorry ass from yourself, and her thanks is to be treated like she is some sort of drag while you flaunt Poppy in her face. Poppy??? Come on, even her name was fake. As fake as the rest of her 'assets.'

You think Gillian didn't hear Poppy's comment about how she thought she was too good for everyone? You think she didn't see how much you loved hearing Poppy diss her? You think she doesn't have on tape in all its glory your coming on to Poppy by saying Gillian thought she was a bad influence? Like Gillian is some sort of Mother Hen and you're just a bad boy aching to get out from under her spinster schoolmarm influence? And then as your crowning blow you sleep with Poppy and make sure Gillian knows all about it? You made Gillian feel like less than nothing with that stunt. God, you're a prick."

Cal realized he couldn't disagree.

"So, anyway, I drive the car around to pick her up. I figure a nice meal, maybe a concert, maybe if we're really adventurous we'll go ride the hotel roller coaster. Whew, big plans that would get us back to our rooms at a reasonable hour because I am just too damn old to be pulling these all-night stunts anymore. Instead, when she finally shows she's fighting back tears. I figure you did something stupid."

He paused, forcing Cal to elaborate. "I blew the bonus on roulette."

Ben snorted. "Nice. She's lost her daughter. She's lost her husband. All she has left is the business, which she's trying to keep afloat with the cash situation we have, so why wouldn't you risk its future? Makes perfect sense."

Cal took Ben's words like a body blow, but Ben wasn't done. Within the Lightman Group, only Gillian was brave enough to call Cal out, but she only did it when Cal treated the others badly. For once, someone was going to go to bat for Gillian. "Just to let you now, she didn't sell you out. She didn't have to. Only one person causes that look in her eyes. We make it through dinner and the concert. I think she even had fun, but she was always preoccupied, no matter how much she pretended otherwise. The next thing I know she suggests a bar and I've gone from date to babysitter. Trying to keep up with a woman who is desperate to prove something is exhausting."

"Gillian's not going to like that you felt sorry for her."

Ben was angry. "This has nothing to do with pity. I saw a friend in trouble and stayed to help. She has spent enough time picking up the pieces for us. It was time someone returned the favor." He took a deep breath and smiled in spite of himself. "And spending the evening with a gorgeous woman who is funny, smart, kind, and sexy as hell wasn't too shabby for my ego either. I think I showed her a good time. Frankly, she was a blast to hang out with. If you ignore how much pain she was in."

"You didn't think to call me?"

"I tried once. No answer. Didn't bother to try again."

Cal felt about 3 inches tall. "What was she trying to prove?"

"What do you think?"

Correction: he felt about 2 inches tall.

The door opened slightly and both men stood up as Gillian came out of the bathroom. She was still humming. "I found a stash of chocolate mints in one of the drawers. Who wants one?" She noticed their expressions. "Wow, what a pair of Gloomy Gusses. Who wants to dance with me?"

Cal said, "There's no music, Gillian," then winced as she started singing "Mandy" again. How in the hell did she win a singing contest?

Ben stepped up and danced with her, maneuvering her toward the sofa. "Let's get you some coffee. Better yet, water and some aspirin. You are going to have one mother of a headache tomorrow." Once he got her seated, he tracked down the bottled water and medicine cabinet. With a glass of water and three Advil in hand, she beamed her thanks at Ben. Cal could swear he heard her purring. Then she yawned.

Cal saw the exhaustion on her face. "Love, why don't you try to sleep now?"

She had her eyes closed and was swaying to music only she could hear. "I don't want to let go of this feeling."

"What feeling?"

"Like I'm fun."

Ben started to say something, but Cal put up his hand to keep him quiet. This was her chance to talk. He wouldn't deny her that.

"What do you mean?"

"You know." She looked at him, her eyes getting increasingly glassy, and shrugged. He knew this would be painful. Gillian wouldn't try to be cruel, that wasn't in her nature, but she wasn't capable of filtering her words right now. They would come straight from her heart and hit their mark. He momentarily wondered if she would think this was a betrayal; it probably wasn't fair to let her talk when she clearly wouldn't be able to censor herself. But when he looked at her face with the pain and vulnerability etched in it, he needed to hear her thoughts and know how badly he had screwed this up. Damn the consequences. He only hoped she wouldn't remember this tomorrow.

"I wasn't the party pooper; I was the party. People, hiccup, people liked having me around. I made people laugh. Alec always said being with me was like trying to party with his mother. I met his mother." She gave a small smile and saluted Cal with her water glass. "And I know you agree with Alec on _that _at least. I want things too neat, too orderly, but I wasn't like that tonight." She looked at Ben and smiled her biggest smile yet. "I. Was. Messy. Thanks, Ben."

Ben couldn't help but smile back. "That you were. And it was my pleasure."

She mistook Cal's expression of sadness. "It's okay, Cal. It was fun_, I was fun_, but old Gillian will be back. I'll be normal tomorrow." She yawned again. "And alone." Her eyes flew open. "Ooh, that sounded sad. I can't be sad. When I'm sad, Dad gets sad and when he's sad he drinks. I'm not sad." She smiled as if to prove her point. As she slid down the sofa she was murmuring more to herself than to them, "It'll be fine. I like my life. But it was nice to be someone different for a little while." She hiccupped and closed her eyes. She looked tiny and fragile as she curled up on the sofa to sleep.

Her words by themselves didn't break his heart. It was the matter of fact tone in her voice. No self pity; just the facts as she saw them. What she thought she was and deserved. What people had trained her to believe from a very early age. Gillian – the perfect one; the responsible one; the one who never makes waves or mistakes or scenes; the one who never breaks, no matter how many bad things happen to her. You don't call Gillian to have fun; you call her when you need to be bailed out of jail. And when her daughter is taken from her, you just pat her on the back while people say something stupid like, "You can try again," or "Maybe it's for the best." You leave her to deal with her pain alone because in your heart you know her idiot husband isn't going to be there in the way she needs. But you convince yourself that you buy her "I'm fine" act until it finally becomes clear that she isn't. Even then, you still make your relationship all about you.

Funny, Cal always thought he knew Gillian best, but it was Ben who allowed her to let go and be the crazy one. Ben. Not him. Ben. He thought of his part in locking Gillian in the gilded cage. Yeah, he was a prick.

Cal grabbed a blanket from the bedroom and gently covered her. He thought about moving her to the bedroom, but he wouldn't have a reason to stay with her then. Ben came over with a pillow and handed it to him, then motioned for Cal to sit with Gillian. He sat down, then pulled her to his lap. He didn't want her to feel alone ever again.

As if Ben could follow the train of Cal's thoughts, he interrupted them, "Must be dammed lonely for her up on that pedestal everyone's so hell-bent to keep her on. What are you going to do about it?" Then Ben wandered to the bedroom to sleep, leaving Cal to ponder the question. He stroked Gillian's hair as she slept, looking at her with new eyes. It was a quiet ride home.


	2. Chapter 2

I had really intended the story to be a one-shot, but everyone was so kind, and Gillian and Cal started talking to each other (and me) again. Hope you like it. I have no idea how many chapters it will be now, but there will be more eventually. Sorry I tend to be slow in writing. This should probably be considered AU, as I'm making up some things from their past.

Do I really have to say I don't own any of these characters?

Chapter 2

Gillian found herself running through the forest. She could hear her father's footsteps, but when she looked back she could only see shadows. The bottle she was carrying was heavy, the liquor sloshing up against the sides. "Gillian, you come back here!" His voice sounded desperate. She tripped, banging her knee on a large tree root. She was hot. Sweating. Her knee hurt. The bottle tipped. Alcohol poured from the open top onto her new scrape. It stung. She tried to wipe it off. "Gillian, bring back Daddy's medicine or else! I need my medicine." She jumped up again, trying to outrun him. His voice. The threats. The trees closed in on her. She turned the bottle over, trying to empty it while she ran. Her stomach clenched with fear. It clenched. She was so hot and sweaty and tired. Her stomach clenched. She tried to take another step, but she couldn't move. She was gasping for breath, desperate for air. Her stomach hurt. The sound of the footsteps got closer. They were pounding. "Gillian!" Fear overwhelmed her. She opened her mouth to scream for help, but her stomach took the opportunity to relieve itself instead.

"Bloody hell!" She heard the epithet, flinched when she felt hands on her. He had caught her, and she knew from bitter experience what that meant. But these hands were gentle. They put a cool rag on her forehead. They held a glass of water to her lips while a soft voice encouraged her to rinse her mouth. They removed her shirt and put another one on her, dressing her with extreme care as if she were a newborn baby. They combed her hair out of her face and then picked her up. She whimpered. The gentle voice soothed her as she felt herself placed on something soft. She was safe. Darkness overtook her.

The dream happened again.

And again.

To most people the soft morning light that shone through the window to warm the bed could best be described as gentle; to Gillian an interrogation lamp would have been less bright. She tried to keep her eyes shut against the burning rays only to discover even the smallest movement intensified a headache that already would have felled an elephant. She moaned slightly as she shifted positions in an unsuccessful attempt to find comfort. Quickly, but gently, she was pulled to a sitting position. A large bowl was placed in front of her while hands lightly brushed her hair away from her face. Her stomach threatened to mutiny, but it eased as she took slow calming breaths. When it finally became apparent that she would not need the bowl, it disappeared and gentle hands shifted her back into the soft pillows. She reluctantly opened one eye to see Cal settle into a chair. His eyes never left her face. "You feeling a little better now, love?"

"What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

A tongue that felt a little too big for her mouth peeked out over chapped lips as she thought. "Vegas," she sighed. So much emotion packed into one word.

"Apparently you aren't as immune to its charms as you once thought."

She harrumphed, then flinched as her head continued to throb. He swallowed a chuckle. He knew exactly how she felt. "Let's get you some painkillers and see if you're ready to live again."

She sat up very slowly and gingerly. Her vision cleared just enough for her to realize where she was. "Cal, why am I here?"

"Well, love, you were in no condition to be by yourself. I had to bring you home."

"Why am I in your bed?" She looked down. "In your shirt?"

Since he was in the bathroom tracking down the Tylenol, he missed her expressions. By the time he came back, her face was bland. The mask was firmly in place. He handed her the pills and water. "You were okay on the plane, but I think moving you to the car and then the ride home were more than your stomach could take. You started on the couch. After that I tried the guest room and then Emily's room." He chuckled. "You never managed to hit the bowl."

"Oh, God," she slunk back down in the bed.

"Nothing some Tide, air freshener, and industrial strength cleaner can't fix." He stood over her as she covered her face with his pillow. "Gill." No movement. "Gill." He finally took the pillow from her and made her look at him. "Nothing you haven't done for me more times than I can count." She was still mortified, and it showed. "Come on, love. Let's see if you can handle a shower and a little toast."

After he excused himself she slowly climbed out of bed. The shower pressure was strong and the temperature was just short of scalding as Gillian tried to scrub herself clean. After she completed her third round of shampoo and body wash, she gave into her tears, sitting on the floor of the shower as hot water flooded over her. She hoped the pounding of the water covered the sounds of her sobs. After a while, she didn't care anymore. She lost track of time, not noticing as the water began to cool. She only startled when the bathroom door opened a crack. "Don't mind me. Take your time." Cal's hand appeared to set a large fluffy towel on the counter and her suitcase on the floor. His interruption jolted her back to reality. She turned off the now cold water and quickly began to dry off and dress.

When she finally made it downstairs, Cal was in the kitchen wearing the flowered apron he loved so much. After all the emotions he had read from her thus far, he hoped the apron would spark at least the tiniest bit of good humor. A quick glance and he knew she was even worse. Well, best to treat things as normal until he could address the issue head on.

"Just in time, love. We're starting with some dry toast. If you keep that down, then we'll move to a little soup. I've also got some ginger ale going flat. Mum swore by that when I was sick. Have a seat." He motioned her to the table where two places were set. She sat gingerly in one seat, looking like she wanted to be anywhere but where she was. She tensed slightly when his hand brushed her shoulder as he joined her. She didn't see him raise his eyebrow at her reaction; he just sat down across from her as if nothing had happened. "Is the smell of my coffee going to bother you?"

She shook her head slightly without looking up at him. She broke one slice of toast into a few small pieces. She tried one piece, but spent more time shredding it into oblivion than eating it. He sat back, analyzing her every movement as he debated his next move.

"Don't read me, Cal."

"Then start talking to me, love."

"I'm embarrassed."

"Yeah, got that one. Also see shame, disgust, regret, remorse, self-loathing, confusion, fear. Now I can understand most of them. Don't agree with them, but expected you'd feel that way. I don't understand the fear. That one you'll have to explain."

"Thanks for taking care of me last night, Cal, but I should get out of your hair. Emily should be home any minute. She doesn't need to see me like this."

"Nice try, Gillian. Already talked with Emily this morning. Told her you were here and sick. She can survive at Zoe's another day. Just made me promise to keep you here tonight so she can see you tomorrow." He took another sip of coffee. "So we have all day to talk. You can tell me why you just spent twenty minutes, and used up all my hot water, in the shower crying." He nodded at her questioning glance. "Yeah, it shows." He didn't tell her how close he came to barging in when he first heard the sobs.

She began to stand up. "Well, my apologies to Emily, but I need to get home. I'll call a cab. Just let me know how much I owe you for everything you need to have cleaned –" she yelped when his hand shot out and grabbed her arm, holding her in place.

She looked at him. His eyes were blazing. "Don't insult me with the offer of a check. That's beneath you."

She looked away. "I'm sorry."

"Eat your toast. At least what you didn't manage to destroy." He could see her internal debate. His hand eased. "Please." Her sigh was audible as she sat back down.

He let her eat in peace, giving her a chance to finish her toast while he topped off his coffee and fetched her more ginger ale. Given the state of the living room, or more specifically the carpet beside the couch in the living room, he moved the two of them into his office. She curled up in one of his overstuffed chairs, looking for all intents and purposes like a small child prepared to be scolded. "How's your head?"

"Better."

"How's your stomach?"

"Better, thanks." She sipped her ginger ale, still not interested in making eye contact.

"Gill, I'm gonna have problems with the line you insist we draw." That got her attention. "On the plane ride home you were chatty. You said some things we need to discuss. But if you keep mentioning that bloody line, we aren't going to get anywhere."

"But we agreed to respect it."

"No, not really, no. You said _you_ thought we should respect it. I gotta tell you, I don't. I hate the bloody thing. It doesn't work."

"Cal."

"No, love. You're a terrible liar. We all know that. I ask you what's wrong and you tell me it's nothing. Now I know you're lying, but because of the dammed line I have to pretend I believe you. It's bloody rubbish. We spend our lives rooting out other people's lies while we keep building a wall of lies between us."

"But it's meant to protect both of us from knowing too much."

"And that is why it doesn't work. I already know too much. Not the details, but I know it. I know when you're hurting, when you're angry, when you're scared. You really think that I didn't know how shattered you were about Alec? Or Sophie? You use that line to push me away, love. That's all it's there for. We're not doing that today."

She shook her head. "I can't give you everything, Cal. I can't give you all of me."

He took another sip of his coffee. He was tempted to throw the cup against the wall, wondered if hearing it shatter would actually help release his frustration. He drummed his fingers as he stared out the window. "I'm not asking for all of you, Gillian." He sighed, "Well, come to think of it, maybe I am." Then he had an idea. "Remember when I was in Afghanistan this last Christmas?" She nodded. "I made an agreement with Welsh. For every truthful answer he gave me, I had to answer a question of his. Let's do that. We'll trade."

The look she gave him was incredulous. "This isn't a game, Cal."

"No, it's not." His tone was serious. "But it's the best I've got. Come on, it'll work. You can go first. Think of all those questions you've been dying to ask me about my past. About Zoe. I'll answer anything you want."

She was surprised, and suspicious. "Anything?"

He smiled. Victory was within reach. "Anything. And then I get to ask you a question."

She knew this was a mistake. She was tired. She was hungover. She had no interest in going toe-to-toe with Cal about things he probably had no business knowing about her. She couldn't possibly agree to such a ludicrous proposition. So why did she just hear herself say, "Okay"?


	3. Chapter 3

Cal's smile showcased every emotion he was feeling: joy, relief, complete and utter triumph, and intense curiosity. He was just as interested in her questions for him as in her answers. He could tell from her expression that she was already regretting agreeing to this proposal. Too damn bad. He rearranged his face to show bland expectation and slouched in his chair. "You go first. Give it your best shot."

"Don't even try it, Cal. You are so incredibly smug about this. Don't try to play innocent now."

"I'm just waiting for a question to answer, Dr. Foster."

She took a sip of ginger ale while she thought. "Have you ever heard from your father? Tried to find him? Know where he is?"

He hid a smile while he took a sip of coffee. Classic Gillian. He knew she'd tread cautiously, start slowly. She'd enter the pool from the shallow end, trying to minimize the ripples. Now he – he liked to jump off the high dive and then check for water. This would be an interesting morning.

"Don't know. Don't care." Her look was concerned, but questioning. "I really don't care, Gillian. You want to know about my childhood and his place in it? His place was gone." He paused. "It's still hard to talk about her."

"We don't have to do this, Cal."

"You're not going to get off that easily, love. And if this is the price I have to pay, I'll do it willingly. My dad met my mum shortly after her parents died. She lost them young. She had a little inheritance from them. It didn't make her rich, but it was the house she loved and enough for the nice, quiet life she wanted for herself. Then my dad showed up. Full of big promises and big plans. He wined her and dined her and got her pregnant with me. She was anxious for a family, thought we'd all be happy. Right after they married, he showed his true self. He spent my childhood spending her money while destroying any and all self esteem she may have had. Suddenly she was working two jobs trying to support the wanker while he kept telling her she wasn't good enough, smart enough, pretty enough, interesting enough to keep him from chasing anything else in a skirt. When he had bled her dry, he took off with a blonde twat who had money to spend and legs to spread. Not before stealing money from Mum's employers and getting her fired."

He slowly set down his coffee cup before he broke it. "It was the first time she needed to be hospitalized for anxiety and depression. I was nine. He was gone, and she had just learned of all his outstanding debts people now looked to her to pay. She had to sell the little house she grew up in, and after everything was settled we moved to a cramped, ugly flat in a very different part of town." He leaned forward, hands together in his lap. "When they took her away to hospital, I thought I would end up in foster care. That's when the Marsh family came forward. They were the family next door. We hadn't lived there long, but Terry and I had started hanging out together," he chuckled, "sneaking cigarettes from his dad so we could learn how to smoke. Mrs. Marsh had befriended my mum. They had less than we did – and more people to take care of – but they took me in, no questions asked. Every time my mum had problems. No questions asked. Incredible family." He looked away.

"How did you end up at Oxford?"

"Oh, that? Well, I was a bit of a screw-up in school and in the community. Didn't take too long to establish my reputation. Wasn't as charming then as I am now. Written off as a delinquent. Lost cause. Until one day when Mrs. Marsh found me with a book. I was twelve and had stolen it from the library." His smile was wry. ""Cause why not steal a book you can borrow for free? She was quite a yeller, Mrs. Marsh was, but while she yelled she also noticed it was a university psychology textbook. She knew I was trying to understand what was happening to my mum. She took it from me and asked me questions about it. Gave me a quiz from the back of a chapter. Then, after she marched me back to the library and signed me up for volunteer work there as punishment, she checked the book out for me and marched me over to the state school. She forced them to test me, demanded on pain of death that I do my best, and suddenly my classes were changed so that I could be 'challenged.' Passed my A-levels with distinction and went to Oxford on scholarship. And poker winnings." He grinned.

"So when your mother mentioned your dad's birthday on the film?"

He immediately sobered. "All utter crap. He'd been long gone for years." He rubbed his face. "I should have seen it coming. She was in agony."

She started to get up, but he held up his hand to keep her at bay. Slowly she sat down again. "I know you don't like it when I say this, Cal: It wasn't your fault." He nodded, but she knew it was more in recognition that she spoke than in agreement with her assessment. "Sometimes an absentee father will contact his children when they are adults. Yours didn't?"

Cal slouched back in the chair again. He rubbed his hand over his face. "When I published my first book I got a letter from him. Sloppy, messy letter all about how he wanted another chance to have a relationship with me. Blamed his abandonment all on her, then mentioned how well I must be doing with the book and how I could afford a few pounds to help him get on his feet. I told him to go . . ." He looked at her. "Well, I told him what he could do with himself. Never heard from him again."

"And the proceeds from your first book?"

"All in trust for the Marsh family. No matter how badly Terry screws up, his family and he will always have a place to live and a way to put food on the table." He sighed, then grinned with a devilish glint in his eye. "My turn."

Now it was Gillian's turn to sigh. She knew she was on the precipice. This was a dangerous moment, but she had navigated her way through many such moments with Cal. She hoped she could do it again.

He found a position where he could best see her face. "So your dad smacked you around when he was drunk, yeah?"

She groaned, "Cal, your sensitivity and way with words are inspiring."

He smiled slightly, "Sorry."

"What makes you ask that?"

"Are you going to try deflecting every question to waste time? We've got all day, love, so don't think it will help you."

"You said I talked during the plane ride home. I don't remember what I said. You have an advantage."

"I always have an advantage." His arrogant smile was classic Cal.

"Cal." Only she could make his name multi-syllabic.

"You mentioned your dad on the plane. Mentioned he drank. You had nightmares last night. Said his name a couple of times."

"Oh." She drew in a deep breath. "To answer your question: No, he didn't hit me when he was drunk. He hit me when he couldn't drink."

"Explain yourself, love."

"When my father drank, he blocked out the rest of the world. Sometimes I needed him to see me. So I'd take the bottle of whatever he brought home that night and hide it. Or dump it. That was not appreciated."

His eyes narrowed. "So he'd hit you."

She nodded. "Hit me for disobeying. Slap me across the cheek for talking back. Those kinds of things. Nothing too major. Sometimes he had a belt or a shoe. Whatever was handy. At the time I just wanted him to pay any attention to me. You know children – even negative attention is better than no attention. And those were the only two options I thought available to me when I was six, seven, eight."

"That makes sense then."

"Hmm?"

"You are by far the fastest student of micro-expressions I've ever taught, but you're not a natural."

"No, I'm not."

"Well, naturals tend to be abuse victims." She flashed – what was that? – at his comment. "They become naturals because they want to read expressions to avoid the beatings. You were interested in his expressions, but you weren't trying to evade the monster."

She shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know that I would call him a monster, Cal. You know, it wasn't that often. I survived it and made a good life for myself, which is more than a lot of people can say. And he's in recovery now. Trying to make amends."

"What about your mum?"

"She made excuses for him. He was stressed from work. He was tired. I shouldn't antagonize him. She minimized what he did." _Just like you're doing_, he thought darkly. "She was a litany of reasons why I should forgive him. Still is."

"So she didn't even try to protect you?"

"No, not really. She was too busy enabling him to take care of me."

"When did your dad get sober?"

"Sometime after I left home."

She flashed – what _was_ that? He leaned forward. "College must have been a safe haven after your childhood."

"Yeah, it was."

As soon as she spoke she knew she had made a mistake. She watched his whole body change. He had been showing intense interest before, but now he was a tight coil of pure determination. Damn. What had she done? What clue did she give him? The one place she didn't want to go and she might as well have given him a ticket and drawn him a map. From the look on his face, he would want a guided tour. Damn. He was a predator now. _This is what a gazelle feels like when it sees the tiger in pursuit_, she thought_._ Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. And for good measure – Damn. She knew she had been too tired to tangle with him.

She watched him mentally run through every conversation they had ever had. She knew what he was doing: he was registering every strange expression she might have given him over the years, expressions that by themselves meant nothing, but put together might reveal everything. Maybe a distraction? It wouldn't work, she knew, but she had to try something. "My turn now, Cal. I've got a question about Zoe."

"No, Gillian. It's still my turn."

"I think . . ."

"No, Gillian."

"Cal, it's my turn." Her voice remained calm, her face placid. Only her eyes, if you looked really closely, revealed her strain. Anyone else wouldn't notice a problem, would let it go. But he wasn't anyone else. He was Cal Lightman. He couldn't let anything go. Not about her.

"No, Gillian."

"Cal. I'm tired. I don't feel well. My headache is back. I want to stop."

"You know I can't do that, love."

She knew the moment it all came together. His quick intake of breath, his widened and then narrowed eyes, his incredulous expression. He wasn't sure he was right, but she knew he probably was. She didn't want this. She wanted to leave, but his stare pinned her down. "Cal, don't. Please."

His eyes never left hers. He knew how much she hated what was about to happen. You could barely tell that by looking at her, but he lived in "barely." "Barely" was his bread and butter.

"Oh, love, I would give anything if I didn't have to, but you know me better than that."

She could sense him ready to pounce. Like the tiger. She knew he would eat her alive. Like the gazelle.

"Did your dad do anything else to you?"

She was cautiously optimistic. She might have a chance to get through this now. "No, Cal. Dad hit me sometimes when I was a child. That's all."

He leaned in even closer, his eyes dark and focused. On her. "Someone else then. . . . Why can't you have children, Gill?"

Damn.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry it's taken so long to update. I didn't mean for the story to get so dark, and then I wanted to make sure my scribbles honored the material. If I missed, please know it wasn't for lack of effort.

I don't own the characters. Let's face it, could anyone really _own_ Cal?

* * * * *

Gillian's face drained of all color. "Cal, I don't know . . . if I'm ready . . . to talk about this."

"Patience is not part of my DNA, love." He looked sympathetic, but firm. "You know I could just start asking questions and get the truth from you that way, but it'd be better if you told me."

"I need a minute."

"Okay." He sighed and sat back in his typical slouch. "She's roulette."

"What?"

"You said you had a question about Zoe." Gillian nodded, appreciating the reprieve even if she knew it would be short-lived. "You were gonna ask me why I slept with her again, yeah?" She was surprised and nodded again, blushing slightly. He repeated, "She's roulette."

While patience was most definitely not one of Cal's virtues, Gillian had it in abundance. If she sat silently, he would eventually explain. "The best thing that has ever happened to me is Emily. Zoe's a big part of that. We can forgive each other a lot of things 'cause of her." He smiled wryly, "And then we screw up and think that things will be different."

"Are you . . . are you going to keep seeing her?"

"You mean have sex with her." She glared and he chuckled. "No. Things are never different. When your own daughter is threatening to boycott any family event you plan together, you know you've hit bottom. Zoe and I – we finally accept we're not going to change. We're done."

"How are you dealing with it?"

He pointed at himself and grinned. "Different day, different shirt." She smiled, remembering their last conversation about Zoe and his inability to let go. "That reminds me," he walked over to his desk to grab a sheet of paper. He tossed it to her while he sat again.

"What's this?"

"Wire transfer. $550,000 to the Lightman account. I know it's not the $1 million, but it's still more than our original contract."

"How'd you . . . ?"

He nodded. "Poker. Damn bloody bore. Sorry about the bet. You were right."

She looked at the receipt again, then back at him with a smile. "Can I have that last part in writing?"

"Don't be cheeky." He grabbed the paper and tossed it back to his desk, then turned back to her. "Okay, love, time to answer my question now."

"What clues did I give you?"

"Doesn't really matter, does it?"

"No." She sighed. "I guess not."

Gillian turned her body slightly away from him, her arms crossed across her chest and her face looking toward the window, although her eyes were focused on another time, another place. Her voice was so soft, Cal had to move closer to hear her, had to readjust to see her face properly. He wondered if he would have regrets afterwards about how he pushed her. But it was a fleeting worry, a problem for later. He couldn't be distracted from the now. Truth was discovered when you asked the right question at the right time. He knew he had asked the right question. Now he would find out if they could survive the answer.

"It was my freshman year at Duke. It was early in the year. I hadn't met a lot of people yet. My roommate was nice, but she went home most weekends to see her boyfriend. There was a party at one of the fraternities. Another girl on the floor told me about it, asked if I wanted to go. She didn't want to go alone. I thought it might be fun." Shame flashed across her face. A brief instant and it was gone.

"There must have been three hundred people there. We had to park so far away; felt like we walked a mile to get to the house. It was crazy, people spilling out across the lawn and into the street lining Fraternity Row. The music was loud. I swear the windows were pulsing to the beat. I almost turned back. It wasn't my scene at all. But Donna wanted to go in." She glanced at Cal with a wry smile and slight shrug. "There was a guy in her Econ class she was interested in. He was pledging. So we went in. There were so many people . . . we got separated."

"She ditched you."

"She didn't ditch me. I told you we got separated."

"She _ditched you_ to chase after Econ guy."

"His name's Todd. They're married now. Two children."

"Lovely. What happened next?"

"Well, I tried to find her, but couldn't." _Shame_ again, he noted.

"I thought about leaving. I probably should have, but she drove. I wasn't sure how to get back to campus. I thought it would be safer just to stay there and wait for her." _Was there a universal sign for irony_, he thought, _because on that last sentence Gillian's face reflected it in spades_. "I tried to mix and mingle. At one point I talked with a group of people. Just idle chit chat. You know, about favorite music and TV shows. It was so hot in there. Too many people in that house. One of the guys offered to get me a drink. He disappeared into the crowd, but he never came back. We were laughing that he must have been eaten by the crowd. One of the girls finally just gave me the drink she was holding. Said someone had given it to her, but she wasn't thirsty. I was so hot. I drank it. I remember it tasted funny –a little salty, had a kick to it – but it was cold and that was enough for me. We visited for a few more minutes until someone asked her to dance. I looked for Donna again." A flash of confusion and Gillian stopped talking.

_Shame_, he noted. _She was overflowing with shame_. "What happened, Gillian?"

Slowly she turned from the window to face him. "That's all I remember. I woke up the next morning in Donna's room. She had spent the evening on one of the upstairs balconies talking with Todd. She said they found me curled up on a sofa as the party was ending. She laughed that I was snoring pretty loud, must have been pretty drunk. Todd helped her bring me back to her room to sleep it off. She was in a good mood. She was meeting him for lunch at the cafeteria." She looked back out the window. "She thanked me for going with her, promised I could be a bridesmaid in her wedding. She was on cloud nine."

"What about you?"

"I went back to my room. Took a shower and went to bed. I had an awful hangover and vowed never to drink like that again. Never to be like my father. I slept that whole day, and by the next morning I was fine. I spent the rest of the weekend studying. Went to classes the next week. Went about my life. I never even really thought about that night again. Not without embarrassment, at least. Then my sophomore year an awful flu bug was going around. Everyone I knew got sick, but for some reason I was the only one who just couldn't seem to shake it. The health center on campus kept telling me it was a virus and I had to let it run its course. Finally I went to another doctor who gave me a full physical. The next thing I know he's talking about an untreated STD." She swallowed hard and tucked her chin to her shoulder. "I knew he couldn't be right because I was still a virgin. He claimed otherwise." She stopped again, closing her eyes and pressing her chin into her arm. Before Cal could say anything, she took a shaky breath and continued. "There was an infection. I needed surgery, and there was some scarring. He told me I would likely have some infertility issues." She paused, "And . . . I do."

"Oh, love." He wanted to reach for her, but she had pulled within herself so tightly he was afraid any outside touch would frighten her. "Did you go to the police?"

It was a long moment before she turned her head to look at him. "Yeah, I did. But when your story is that over a year ago you attended a party with at least three hundred other students you didn't know then and don't remember now, that you drank an alcoholic beverage while underage and don't remember anything after drinking it, and you think maybe someone might have taken advantage of the situation, they aren't exactly receptive." She exhaled slowly, "I don't know what happened, Cal. I couldn't give them any details. The girl who gave me the drink liked the show 'Cheers' but preferred Diane to Rebecca. That didn't exactly narrow down their list of suspects."

"You blame yourself."

"I don't know what happened," she repeated. "I don't know who is to blame."

_She blames herself_, he thought. _Bloody hell, she blames herself._

"What did your parents say?" An expression flashed across her face. He was incredulous. "You didn't tell them?" She didn't have to respond. "Did you tell anyone?" Again, he already knew the answer. "Not even Alec?"

"He knew I might not be able to have children. I didn't feel the need to burden him with the details."

They sat in silence for a few moments while he reflected on all the times he saw her in pain, but respected the line – _her line_ – and didn't ask questions. He remembered all those cases that he knew took a toll on her, but he backed off when she said she was okay. _She always said she was okay_. He thought about all the times she reached out to him, encouraged him as he shifted his burdens to her, but she never chose to do the same. _She's been alone_, he thought. _Even when I'm standing beside her, she's been alone_.

"So, is it my turn again?"

"Gillian –"

"I'm fine, Cal. It happened a long time ago."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "I didn't want to be defined by that one night."

"That's a lie, love."

She was taken aback. "No, it's not. I didn't want people gossiping about me, trying to decide whether I was telling the truth. I don't want people's pity." Her back went up at the look he gave her. "Okay, then, here's a question for you, Cal: Would you have let me in on the Jenkins case if you had known about that night?"

"No. I didn't want you anywhere near Jenkins to begin with, but after this . . . never."

"See? You're proving my point. I helped those women. Natalie and Michelle - they are both getting the help they need because of me. But if you had known about that night, you'd have kept me away."

"And what about the help you need?"

"I'm fine."

"Liar."

"I'm fine, Cal."

"_You're not fine_."

"Cal, that's not true."

"We've known each other how long now? You never told me. My God, I've always joked about what a terrible liar you are, but you're bloody brilliant at it." She had never seen him in such a panic before. He was pacing the room, his tone growing ever more desperate as he talked, more to himself than to her. "How in the hell did you get past me? How in bloody hell did I miss this? Twelve years. _Twelve years_ we've known each other. Christ, all those smiles that didn't quite meet your eyes. All those chin quivers. All those swallows and sideway glances. All those expressions I didn't understand. _Didn't pay enough attention to_. You're a ticking time bomb and I missed it. _I missed it!_ I could have lost you."

"Cal, I'm fine."

"Stop _saying_ that!" He turned to her, exasperation in his voice.

"Cal, it's over. I've dealt with it. It happened almost two decades ago."

"You _haven't_ dealt with it. The way you were crying upstairs in the shower, it might as well have happened _yesterday_!"

Cal threw himself back into his chair, then moved it so close to her that their knees were touching. "It's that dammed line. You keep everyone at bay, Gill. You don't let anyone get close. Ben gave me hell for putting you on a pedestal, but _you _–you've locked yourself in a bloody prison! Decided you're not important enough to have feelings, yeah?"

"What are you talking about?"

"On the plane you told us, "I can't be sad. When I'm sad, Daddy's sad, and when Daddy's sad he drinks.' You've been taught you come last to everyone else."

"Not fair to use words I don't remember saying."

"Deflection, so it's true then. Had no one to protect you so you just decided you weren't worth anything. Your marriage certainly didn't change your thinking." He put his hand on her mouth when she started to speak. "This will go a whole lot better if you stop talking." When she glared at him, he just glared back. "Love, your marriage was a disaster and you know it. Christ, you lost your daughter and never got a chance to grieve because Alec told you he couldn't talk about it. To hell with what you needed! I found you on the balcony after the Burch case and you apologized to me for being sad. _You apologized!_ Do you know what I think? I think you spend your entire life worrying about everyone else, making sure everyone else is taken care of, but you don't have the first clue how to let anyone take care of you."

He put his hands on the arms of her chair, pinning her in place and leaning forward so that she could do nothing but look at him. He waited until he had her full attention. His tone was firm. "I've lived this before, and I'll be dammed if another woman I love tells me with a smile she's fine and then permanently removes herself from my life_. I'm not burying you_."

Now she understood. She reached for his hands, "Cal, I'm not your mother. If I had known this would make you think of your mother . . ."

He pulled his hands away and grabbed her wrists. "_Bloody hell, woman, stop doing that_! Stop trying to comfort me. This isn't about me. This is about you. But you don't think you deserve comfort, do you? You think somehow you deserved this."

Now it was Gillian's turn to pull away. "I don't remember what happened, Cal."

"Is it easier to pretend the rape didn't happen," she flinched at the word, "or are you trying to find a way to blame yourself for it?"

"I can't prove there was something in that drink. I don't know what happened. Maybe I just got drunk and came on to him."

"Are you trying to piss me off now? Because you are succeeding, love. If what happened to you happened to Emily, are you saying you'd tell her she brought it on herself?"

She buried her head in her hands. "You don't play fair, Cal."

"You know this wasn't your fault."

"I don't know what happened, Cal."

"Yes you do, love," he sighed, "and the longer you go about denying it the bigger problem we're gonna have. I'm no expert, but even I know you _have_ to deal with it. You're gonna have to admit what happened to you."

"I don't want to do this." Her voice was a whisper.

"I know, darling. But 'want' and 'have to' are two different things. You have to do this. You know that better than anyone."

When she looked away, he gently held her chin and made her look at him again. "Remember your intervention with me about Terry? You told me to trust you, and I do, love. Now you need to trust me." She shook her head slightly. "Tell me what happened." She swallowed several times. "Tell me what happened, Gillian."

"I . . . was . . . raped. And I don't know who. Or even how many." She began to cry. Cal caught her as she fell into him, pulling her onto his lap. Her sobs broke his heart, but he thought now she finally had a chance to heal. Heal from a wound he never knew she had.


	5. Chapter 5

When Gillian's sobs transitioned to hiccups and then slow and steady breathing, Cal carried her back to his bed. He knew she would sleep for awhile; she was exhausted. He needed a plan before she woke. The problem was he had absolutely no idea how best to help her. _When in doubt, call Paul_, he thought. Paul Ekman was Gillian's favorite professor in graduate school. He was chair of her dissertation committee and was the first person she turned to for guidance in her research. Now head of the psychology department at Georgetown, Paul was always willing to consult with the Lightman Group on some of their tougher cases. Cal considered Paul a good friend and the father Gillian deserved to have.

As he dialed Paul's home number, he wondered if Gillian would be upset. _Can't be helped_, he rationalized. _I need Paul to help me help Gillian. I told her to trust me. I hope she'll trust me with this_. He hit the send button. It rang twice. "Hello."

"Hello, Paul. It's Cal Lightman."

"Hey, Cal, it's good to hear from you!" Paul's voice rang out deep and smooth with a touch of the Texas twang he never managed to lose. "It's been too long. How's my girl doing? Still keeping you on the straight and narrow?"

"Well, Paul, that's why I'm calling."

"What's wrong with Gillian?" Paul's tone immediately turned serious, concern emanating from every syllable.

As gently as he could, Cal explained to Paul his conversation with Gillian. There was silence on the other end. "Damn," Paul's voice was thick with emotion. "I had no idea. Who could want to hurt our Gillian?"

"I don't know what to do, Paul." Hearing Paul's emotion allowed Cal to let his guard down as well. "I don't have the first clue how to help her. I can't believe she kept it from us. Why would she think she needed to hide her pain? We could have lost her."

"Like your mother?" Cal was stunned silent. How did Paul know anything about his mother? "Cal, do you really think you're the only person at Lightman Group who calls me to ask how to help a colleague?"

"The Ashraf sisters' suicides?"

"Son, she's called me about every suicide case you've ever worked on."

"I'm not burying her, Paul."

"Our Gillian is stronger than you think, Cal."

"You didn't see her face."

"Okay, okay, let me think." Cal could hear Paul typing. A moment elapsed before, "Perfect. Her name is Patricia Dickinson, Cal. Give me about thirty minutes to touch base with her, and I'll call you back. She is a fantastic psychotherapist. A student of mine. One of my best. _Almost_ as good as Gillian. Patricia was director of the Georgetown Center for Trauma and the Community for a number of years before going into private practice, and she's still active at the DC Rape Crisis Center. You'll like her. More importantly, Gillian will like her. She'll be able to help. Call you back."

Cal spent the time checking on Gillian, who was still asleep, and tackling the remnants from her bad night. The steam vacuum he "won" in the divorce settlement came in quite handy. He was prepping another load of sheets for the wash when his cell phone rang. "I'm texting you her office information, Cal. Patricia will meet you there today around 4. Let me know if there is anything else I can do, and keep me posted, okay?"

"Thanks, Paul. I owe you for this."

"Just take care of our girl."

Cal had time to change out laundry again before Gillian woke up. He was in the kitchen heating soup when he heard her soft tread on the stairs. _Can footsteps sound reluctant?_ She still looked tired, too fragile for his liking, but he greeted her with his usual grin. "How'd you sleep?"

She gave him a tentative half-smile. "I'm okay." _Like hell you are. Do you think I'm blind?_ But his expression didn't change. "What time is it?"

He looked at his watch. "It's 2:30. You hungry?"

She thought for a moment, and then nodded. He dished out two bowls of soup and set them down at the table. Again, she perched gingerly on the chair. Her flinch was less noticeable when he touched her shoulder, but it was still there. Again, he ignored it. "Emily's creation the other night. We'll see if it reheats well."

"It's good." She focused on her soup, perhaps hoping she wouldn't have to focus on anything else. _Okay, love, we'll do things your way for the moment._ Comments about the weather, office gossip, and upcoming cases accompanied their lunch. He shooed her to a stool while he cleaned up the few dishes. She sat quietly, lost in thought. He wondered how badly she was torturing herself for losing control earlier. She looked at him, blushed slightly when she caught his eye, and quickly looked away before standing. "Cal, I think I should probably head home now."

"Nope, I promised Emily you'd be here tomorrow. Anyway," he checked the clock, "we've got to get going. Grab your shoes and do whatever else you think you need to look presentable." As he spoke he rounded the kitchen counter and gently pulled her from the stool to lead her upstairs.

"Cal, I'm not up for going out."

"Not a choice, love. You look fine to me, but if you want to do anything you've got 15 minutes."

"Where are we going?"

"Nice try, but not telling. Go." He motioned for her to head upstairs. She stood, arms akimbo, with a questioning glare. He folded his arms in reply and raised an eyebrow. They stood that way for a few moments. He knew she was too emotionally exhausted to continue this fight much further, and he used it to his advantage. "A game of chicken is what this is, darling, and I will pick you up and make you go in socks. You now have 9 minutes. Go."

She sighed and slowly headed upstairs. He had begun a loud countdown of the final seconds when she finally reappeared, now clad in jeans and a sweater. Her face was still devoid of makeup, but she had washed it and run a comb through her hair. She looked tired and bruised and entirely too fragile, too vulnerable. He had to steel himself not to crush her to him and wrap her in cotton. When she saw his look, her chin went up. _Pride_, he noted with approval. _Good girl_.

Gillian started resisting as soon as they got to the office garage; Cal gently, but firmly, escorted her out of his car and into the elevator. "Cal, where are we? It's Saturday."

"You're meeting with Patricia Dickinson." He pressed the button.

"Who is she?" Her tone was wary and highly suspicious.

"Paul recommended her."

"You called Dr. Ekman?!?" The doors opened, and Cal and Gillian could see Dr. Dickinson waiting for them by the open office door. Gillian stopped dead. Unless Cal wanted to pull her along, he needed to stop as well.

He faced her, his hands gently stroking her arms. "I had to, Gillian. You need to talk to someone a dammed sight more experienced at this than I am. Paul says she's the best."

"You've dragged her out on a Saturday, Cal! She probably has family obligations." Gillian turned toward Dr. Dickinson. "I'm so sorry they bothered you on a Saturday, Doctor. Cal and Paul tend to overreact. You should never have been asked to come out today." She was trying to inch her way back to the elevator, but Cal took the opportunity to put his hand on the small of her back and subtly propel her toward the waiting doctor.

Cal's move wasn't lost on Patricia. She smiled. "First, please call me Patricia. And there's no bother. It's so nice to meet the famous Gillian Paul has talked about all these years. And with the legendary Cal Lightman beside her? This is a treat."

"I'm Gillian. This is Cal. Please don't call him legendary; it only encourages him," she said with a meaningful glance toward him. She turned back to Patricia. "And you should be home with your family. I'm fine. We don't need to do this now."

"I'm already here, and Doug is getting in some good male bonding time with our boys. Something about a bird feeder and power tools. I'm best left out of it. Let's go in, shall we?"

With Cal at her back and Patricia at her side, they advanced her into the waiting room. Gillian felt suddenly claustrophobic. She looked like a bird that accidentally flew into a cage. "I really don't think this is necessary . . ." They ignored her protests, instead guiding her toward Patricia's office while divesting her of her coat and purse, which Cal tossed into a nearby chair. "I don't think I can do this again today," her voice was desperate, pleading. "Cal, please."

He almost gave in; it was the fear in her eyes that was his undoing. He started to weaken, reached for her. Luckily Dr. Dickinson took the decision out of his hands. She rested her hand on Gillian's shoulder. "If you don't want to talk about that night, then we'll just trade stories about Dr. Ekman for the next fifty minutes. I'm sure you have some good ones." She gently motioned for Gillian to enter her office.

Gillian gave a panicked look to Cal. He nodded reassuringly. "I'll be right here, love."

She took a couple of deep, shaky breaths. He watched her internal struggle. "Okay."

He smiled with relief. As he dropped his hands to his sides, he felt a small bulge in his coat pocket. He smiled. "Dr. Dickinson?"

"Yes?"

Cal tossed her a bag of chocolate kisses. "Sometimes I'm able to bribe her with chocolate."

Gillian gave him "the look," but Patricia grinned as she caught them. "I'm going to like both of you." She ushered Gillian into her office, asking, "So is it true you called Dick Cheney a lying son of a . . ."

"No, that was Cal . . ."

He responded, "Hey, I called him a thieving bastard."

Gillian gave him "the look" again. "Actually, you called him both."

Cal could hear Patricia chuckling as the door shut, and he found himself smiling at the memory. He paced around the waiting area for a few moments before taking a seat, sliding down in the chair until his legs stretched out in front of him. With his hands behind his head, he settled in for the wait.

Fifty minutes later, on the dot, he startled awake to the sounds of voices at the door. He was standing when Patricia and Gillian emerged. Gillian's face was pale and her eyes were red. "How are you, love?"

She smiled, "I'm fine."

He walked over and gave her a one-armed hug, "Well, that's a lie, but Rome wasn't built in a day." He pressed a kiss to her forehead before turning to Patricia. "When do you want her back?"

She turned to Gillian. "How do Thursdays at 5 work for you?"

"Well, I'll have to check my schedule . . ."

Cal interrupted, "We'll be here."

Gillian started to object, "But Thursdays might not be . . ."

"We'll be here."

"Cal, you are not coming with me every . . ."

"We'll be here." He took the cards Patricia was holding out for Gillian and exchanged them for one of his own. "How did it go, Patricia?"

Patricia replied, "Cal, you know it's confidential."

"Gill, do I need to maintain the fiction with Patricia that I'm not going to figure out exactly what you talked about in your sessions with her?"

"Cal . . ."

"I'm not asking for details, love." His eyes were gentle. "I just need to know how to help you, what I'm dealing with, okay?"

She looked at him for a moment and then patted his shoulder. "Okay. I'll let you two talk while I step into the ladies' room."

He watched her walk across the waiting room into the small powder room adjoining it. When that door shut, he whipped back to Patricia, all business again. "What do you think?"

"I think she's been through a traumatic experience that she managed, with increasing difficulty, to keep suppressed until now."

"Bloody hell!" He raked his hands through his hair. "Can you help her?"

She actually had to fight not to step backwards from the intensity of his stare. "Yes, I can. It's going to take some time, Cal. And it's going to get worse before she gets better. All these emotions are bubbling, and from the sound of her childhood she hasn't had much experience dealing with, or even showing, emotions."

"Do you think she should be alone?"

She hesitated. He pointed, "That third thought you just had. Right there. I want you to tell me that one."

She expelled a long breath. "Paul told me you were good. I didn't realize how good." She chose her words carefully, "Because Gillian has no memory of the rape, her mind may be her enemy for awhile. Her imagination will try to fill in the blanks, and people in this situation tend to imagine worst case scenarios. Each will replay in her mind, like a looped film. It is a difficult pattern to break. I think, right now especially . . . she could use as many supportive people in her life as she can get. Considering how private she is, it's not going to be easy."

"I'll take care of it."

"She's going to fight you."

"I'll win." His voice was confident, determined. She couldn't hide her smile. Just then the powder room door opened. Cal bounded toward Gillian and reached for her hand. "Let's go, Foster. We have another place to be. Thank you, Patricia. We'll see you Thursday."

"At least let me say goodbye, Cal!" Gillian disentangled herself from him and walked back over to shake Patricia's hand. "Thank you again for interrupting your family time to meet with me. I'm sorry they made you do that."

Patricia placed her other hand on top of Gillian's. "I'm not sorry at all. Today was a good start. It was necessary. And I'm serious. You call me if you need to talk. That goes for you, too, Cal. You both have my contact information. I expect to hear from you, and I expect to see you Thursday."

Cal wrapped his arm around Gillian's shoulders. "We'll be here. I'll make sure of that. Now come on, love. Let's let her get home."

"Cal, where else do we have to be?" She was half-running to keep up with him.

"You'll see." Patricia chuckled to see him take charge of her. Goodness knows all her patients could use someone like Cal in their lives. Who knew that when the irresistible force meets the immovable object, the force wins?


	6. Chapter 6

At first Cal thought Gillian was being quiet because she was too busy trying to keep up with him. Granted, he was on a breakneck pace, but he was anxious to do something, _anything_ to fix this. When they got to the elevator and rode down to the garage, he thought she was quiet because she was trying to catch her breath. But when she turned her face from him as soon as he started the car? _Uh oh_. He drove slowly, periodically checking on her. The silence was deafening. "Are you mad at me, love?"

She didn't turn back. "I don't know yet. Maybe."

"Fair enough." His voice was light, but his emotions weren't. _Damn, did I push too hard? _He thought for a moment_. No. Had no choice. We're getting the help we need. Only thing we can do now is plow ahead. _He made a couple of turns and looked at her. She was still staring out the window, her right arm wrapped around her stomach, her left to her side. "How's your head?"

"Still hurts, but better."

"Stomach?"

"Better."

He debated a moment before reaching for her left arm with his right. While she certainly didn't make it easy for him, she didn't pull away as he took her hand in his and interlaced their fingers. _Progress_, he thought.

They sat that way for a few more blocks before he reluctantly let go to turn into the parking lot. She immediately wrapped her arms around herself. _Self-comforting_, he noted. Her voice was quiet and a little apprehensive. "Who else do I have to talk to today?"

"Just me, love, and you don't even have to do that if you don't want." She looked around before opening the door.

"Where are we?"

"It's a little Italian food place I recently discovered. You've barely eaten today. I thought we might get a quick bite if you're hungry." She shrugged, but let him lead her into the restaurant.

They got settled in the booth he requested for privacy. He took the opportunity to study her while she checked the menu and ordered her meal. She was tired – physically and emotionally. _Quick meal and then back home where she belongs_. He placed his own order. Now he needed a dinner topic that was light, that would relieve the tension – _her_ tension. The choice was obvious. "Did I tell you what Emily said to her English professor the other day?" Thus started his monologue about his daughter. He picked only those stories most likely to make Gillian laugh, and he counted every smile, no matter how slight, as a victory. Gillian spent more time playing with her food than eating it, but he was happy to see even the few bites she took. The waiter wrapped the rest for them to take home.

"I'm surprised you brought us here instead of La Strada. That's usually your favorite place for Italian food." It was the first time since before Patricia's office that she had initiated a conversation; he was relieved.

"Did you not like it then?"

"No, no, it was fine."

He grinned. "They have a habit of overcooking their pasta. But I didn't bring you here for the pasta."

"What then?" she looked wary.

"For that." He nodded to the waiter, who walked over with a large piece of chocolate cake. Her eyes widened. "According to every review I could find, it's now considered the best in the city." She stared at it for a few moments. He exhaled the breath he didn't realize he was holding when she finally picked up her fork and took a bite.

He leaned forward, resting his head on his hand while watching her eat. "Whoever told you you were no fun has never seen you eat cake."

Startled at the comment, she glanced at him questioningly, her mouth full of icing. "Didn't really mean to say that out loud. Oh well, you made a comment on the plane." He shrugged, "Whoever told you that you didn't know how to have fun has never really watched you eat cake. It's like a carnival ride your expressions. You could sell tickets."

She swallowed and reached for the coffee the waiter had brought to the table. "I have it on good authority that I'm smothering."

He leaned forward. "The bloke who told you that is a real idiot. A wanker, love. You don't smother at all, just try to help some poor sod too stupid to help himself." She shook her head. "Don't believe me, do you? You know me, love; I bore easily and you are never boring. You're smart, funny, fascinating, a bit obsessive with the junk food, but beautiful, mad about the people you care about. You're every man's dream, love."

"Said the man who had sex with Poppy." She added sugar and cream and took a sip of her coffee.

He flinched, flashing shame and regret. "Not one of my better choices. Didn't seem like a bad idea at the time, but it never does, does it?"

She set the cup down, eyes averted as she played with its handle. "Let's face it, Cal. Poppy is fun. I'm the boring, good girl. Don't try to pretend you think I'm something I'm not with all those compliments. Alec said things like that all the time, but we both know it wasn't my bed he wanted to sleep in. And when the choice for fun was between me and cocaine, he certainly didn't choose me. So please don't use those platitudes with me. That just insults both of us."

His anger flared. "No, what insults both of us is your comparing _me_ to your bastard of an ex-husband. Don't you dare use _my_ screw-up as a way to bash yourself. Poppy was a mistake. It says _nothing_ about you, everything about me."

He was glad to see the anger finally flash in her eyes; she was going to need a lot of fight in the months to come. "What you do with Poppy is your business. Just don't roll out of _her_ bed and start telling me how wonderful I am, Cal. Not good manners."

His eyes narrowed. "Why this obsession with Poppy? You called it when you saw her: she's Vegas – all about instant gratification, but no staying power. Why would she of all people make you feel inferior? Why did you go out with Ben? Why was it so important to prove that you were fun? And prove it to whom? Ben? He's so besotted with you he already thinks you hung the moon. Me? You don't have to prove anything to me."

"Poppy is exactly the kind of girl Alec would choose. And he's certainly not the only one. If Alec had been in Vegas with us I would have watched the two men I lo—, trusted most in my life get into a pissing match for her attention. What does that tell me about me, Cal? According to you, I'm not as loyal as Terry. I'm not as fun as Poppy. I smother. I mother. When are you going to decide I'm not worth it either?"

Looking at her he could suddenly imagine the 6, 7, 8 year old girl begging her father for attention and being smacked for her efforts. He could imagine the 19 year old woman sitting alone in the doctor's office when she was blindsided with the news that she could no longer have children. He remembered the phone call he received the day they took back Sophie. Alec left at the last minute, said he couldn't stand there and watch them take her away. Cal rushed to Gillian's side, but he got there too late. He never knew how long she stood alone in that empty house. Her night out with Ben wasn't about Poppy; it was a culmination of years, decades even, of watching people leave her. He remembered Ben's words on the plane: _She's lost her daughter. She's lost her husband. All she has left is the business, which she's trying to keep afloat with the cash situation we have, so why wouldn't you risk its future? _Her words haunted him as well: _I wasn't the party pooper; I was the party. People liked having me around._

"Gillian, look at me. Please, love." But she wouldn't. "I am not your father and I'm sure as hell not Alec. You are more important to me than I could ever say. Emily and you are everything to me. I'm not going anywhere."

"Can I just go home now?"

He tossed some cash on the table. "Yeah, let's go home. We'll stop at your place tomorrow to get some of your things."

"No, Cal. I want to go to my home. Get back to normal."

"There's a new normal now, love, and it consists of you living in my house and sleeping in my guest room."

"This is ridiculous. The last thing Emily and you need is me hanging around. I'd rather be at home surrounded by my own things."

"No."

"Do you really think you can make me?"

He grabbed her hand, wouldn't give it back when she tried to pull it from the table. "I remember asking that same question the summer of 2003."

"This is different . . ."

He continued as if she hadn't spoken. "I will repeat to you something a friend told me then: 'A true friend isn't willing to sit back and watch you destroy yourself if they have the power to help.'" She harrumphed. "I believe that friend also said, 'You may not like my help. You may scream and yell and tell me to go to hell. You may think I'm the bossiest person you've ever known, the biggest pain in the ass you've ever seen, but don't even bother trying to get rid of me because you are dammed well stuck with me until you are ready to face the world again.'"

She pulled her hand away. "I don't believe I called myself a 'pain in the ass.'"

"Oh, but you were, love. I might have paraphrased, but believe me, you were. And I'm honor bound to return the favor."

She stared at him for a few loaded moments, but he just smiled. Finally she broke eye contact and played with her coffee cup again. Her voice was resigned, "I always wondered if those words would come back to bite me someday."

He chuckled, "No good deed goes unpunished." He finally relaxed when she gave him a wry smile and small chuckle as well. "You're stuck living with me, Gill, until Patricia says otherwise. And you're stuck with me in your life forever. So get used to it." He pulled her to her feet and took her hand. "Let's go home, and I'll let you torture me with a movie. I curse the day you gave Emily that collection of old romance films. I am _this close_ to giving in and allowing her a television in her room just so I don't have to watch the tripe."

"I haven't seen 'Enchanted Cottage' in awhile."

She smiled as he whimpered, but, true to his word, when they got home he started the movie and pulled her close to him. If at times he moaned about the overly romantic plot and tossed a few pillows and epithets at the lead actors, well, that was part of the Cal classic movie experience, wasn't it? By the time the end credits rolled, he felt the heaviness of her body against him. He carried her up to the guest room and carefully tucked her into bed. He gently brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. "Hell of a day, love." He turned out the main light, and for the first time in a long time he said a prayer, praying for strength for the journey ahead of them.


	7. Chapter 7

Cal jerked awake at the first whimpering sound. He stumbled a little as he tried to get out of bed and read the clock at the same time. 2:31 a.m. He hadn't been on a schedule like this since Emily came home from the hospital and demanded feedings every two hours. Last night when it started, he was so out of it that it took him a full fifteen minutes to realize he hadn't left the television on downstairs. By the time he fully woke up and got to her, she was in a complete panic. He had the drill down now. He started sleeping in sweatpants so all he needed was to grab the t-shirt lying on the end of the bed as he ran out of his room.

"Dad? What's that noise? Is that _Gillian_?" Emily's door opened to reveal the sleepy, puzzled girl in drawstring pants and pajama top. He didn't stop, just pointed, "Get back to your room, Emily. It's okay. Just go back to sleep." He was thrusting his arms into the sleeves of his shirt as he opened the guest room door.

Twenty minutes later he tiptoed out of the now silent guest room, quietly pulling the door closed behind him. He started back toward his own bedroom when he saw the huddled lump sitting in the hallway. "Dad, what's wrong with Gillian?"

He stopped and hung his head for a moment. "I thought I told you to go back to sleep."

"She sounded really upset."

"Just a nightmare."

"Dad, what's going on?"

He knew that tone. Sleep would have to wait. He motioned for her to follow him downstairs. He led her to the kitchen, and she grabbed a stool while he pulled out the necessary ingredients for hot chocolate. "We haven't done this in a while, love. Good thing you have a school holiday tomorrow."

"Tell me what's up with Gillian."

"It was just a nightmare, Em."

"No, Dad. You've been weird all day. Both of you. When I got home you looked exhausted. You've spent the whole day hovering over Gillian, watching her like she's going to fall apart any minute. She's pretending like everything is okay, but her smile doesn't reach her eyes. You've moved a lot of her clothes into the guest room. She looked terrified when it was time to head upstairs last night. And now this. _What is going on_?"

The tea kettle whistled, and he bought some time stirring the hot chocolate and adding the cinnamon, marshmallows, and whipped cream. He sat beside her as he handed her one of the mugs.

"Gillian is a very private person. You know that." She nodded. "I'm not going to get into specifics, but she's having to deal with some pretty serious things right now. Things she thought she had put behind her."

"I don't understand. Is she in danger?"

"No, love. She's been blindsided by memories of stuff that happened to her awhile back. She thought she dealt with it all, but the emotions came back and have taken her by surprise. She needs not to be alone while she deals with them so I want her to stay here. With us. But things might get a little dicey for awhile. More nightmares and crying jags and God knows what else. If you want to stay at your mum's, I will certainly understand."

Emily sipped her chocolate while she tried to process his explanation. "So something happened to her that she is just now dealing with? Something bad?"

"Hey, love, the important thing is she is going to be okay."

"Does this have anything to do with Sophie? Or Alec? Or, wait, is this about when she got attacked during that psycho case you solved?"

"It's a combination of stuff like that. She's had a lot of crap happen to her, and it's all coming at her at once. It's gotten a little overwhelming for her. The important thing is that she's seeing someone to help her get through it, and she needs lots of support from the people who care about her."

"She's seeing someone? Like therapy? Wow, I think of Gillian as being so strong."

His voice was sterner than he meant it to be. "Therapy has nothing to do with strength or weakness. Gillian is one of the strongest people you'll ever know. This doesn't change that."

Emily's eyes widened. "Wow. Okay, Dad. I didn't mean to insult her. Sorry."

His tone gentled. "I'm sorry, love. I just get touchy when people suggest therapy means weakness. We all have times we could use a little extra help."

Her eyes narrowed. "Have you ever?"

He looked her straight in the eye. "Needed therapy? Yeah, love."

"When? What happened? Was it about Mom?"

He drained his mug while he debated how much he could, _should_ tell her. It was easier to protect her when she was five or six. You knew then how much you could share. But how much was too much information for a fifteen year old? "You don't have to protect me, Dad. I'm a big girl now."

"Don't remind me. . . . Do you remember that summer you spent at your grandparents in Chicago?"

"Yeah, I was like eight, right?" He nodded. "Mom travelled back and forth, but she said you were on a special case and couldn't visit." She gulped. "Were you in an institution?"

"No, love. But that spring I was still working at the Pentagon. It was during all the craziness leading up to the Iraq war. A lot of fear in the city – hell, the country – after 9/11. A lot of finger pointing and conspiracy theories and people running scared."

"I remember that."

"Well, the funny thing about having a reputation as a human lie detector and working for the government is a lot of people with certain . . . agendas and a fair amount of power only want you to spot _other_ people's lies. Some of this is still classified so I'd have to kill you if I told you." She rolled her eyes at the cliché, and he smiled briefly. "Suffice it to say that a few of those people determined it was in their best interest to destroy my credibility. They manipulated a case I was working on so that I would give the wrong result."

"Dad, that's terrible! Did you get fired?"

He was somber. "I didn't care what happened to me. What I couldn't deal with was knowing my analysis caused a number of innocent people to be killed."

"But it wasn't your fault if they changed stuff without you knowing about it."

He looked at her sadly. "But it _was_ my fault. One person on my team got suspicious, told me to slow down. Said I was making too many judgment calls on too little evidence and needed to study the tapes again. Tried to point out some discrepancies that needed to be resolved before we could write our report, but I was so arrogant and sure of myself then that I ignored her, actually kicked her off my team at one point." At Emily's quick intake of breath and questioning look, he nodded. "Yeah, love. It was Gillian. When I say Gillian never forgets a voice, I know that from my own experience.

"Anyway, the Pentagon cut me loose, but that's happened to me before. I had made mistakes that cost people their lives before. But this time I knew it was more than a mistake. People died because I was too blind, too stubborn, too damn cocky to see the truth when it was pointed out to me. And I had dedicated my life to the truth. Well, I couldn't handle that. I got pretty self-destructive. Zoe decided you should spend time in Chicago to be away from all that. Away from me."

"Oh, Dad!" She launched herself into Cal's arms, hugging him tightly. "I never knew. How did you get through it?"

"Gillian." She sat back, surprised. "Believe me, I was surprised, too. The arguments we had about the case – the things I said to her about not being smart enough to know what she was talking about, about her audacity at thinking she could spot a lie better than I could. She stood there, calmly taking the insults while she strongly encouraged me to think before I acted. She should have walked away, celebrated my comeuppance, but she didn't. First, she worked her bum off heading an investigation to clear my name and reputation while she took down the men who set me up and caused all those needless deaths. Then she searched every bar and pub in the city until she tracked me down. She brought me home, basically moved in to get me sober and healthy again. God, I wanted her to leave me alone. Tried everything I could think of to prove to her I was a lost cause. She wasn't buying it."

He rubbed his face. "Once she ferreted out the bastards who used me to murder those innocents, the brass offered her my old position, wanted her to take over my team. It would have been quite a coup for her. Instead, she quit her job and took on consulting work. She would drag me out of bed every day and make me watch tapes and discuss cases with her. I told her I was done with the whole bloody business, but she wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. Said I was too good at my job to drown myself in bottles of scotch and self pity. Said I had a family," he stroked Emily's cheek with a smile, "who deserved to know I would be there to take care of them and since I wasn't cut out for the diplomatic corps, I'd better get back to what I was good at. We really did start "The Lightman Group" here in this kitchen."

Emily sat quietly for a moment. "Dad, where was Mom in all this?" His face contorted, and he picked up the mugs, carrying them to the sink and washing them like they were fine china. "Dad?!"

"She was working, love. Trying to keep this roof over our heads and food on the table. And she was checking on you, making sure you were okay."

That wasn't the whole story, and she knew it. "So the three of you were living here at one time? I can't really see that happening." At his continued silence, she said with exasperation, "You know, I'm no longer at the age where I think both of you are perfect. You really can tell me the truth without bursting my bubble."

"And here I thought you still considered me Superman."

"Yeah, gave up on that illusion a long time ago."

"That's a bit of a cheek, don't you think?"

"Dad, really bad deflection. Where was Mom when all this was happening?"

He sighed. "You can't blame your mum, Emily. I was a mess, which is quite the understatement. She was still trying to make a name for herself at the Department of Justice, and having a husband who was fired from the Pentagon and the centerpiece of a massive scandal wasn't helping her. She was trying to keep her job, _needed_ to after I got fired, and that was becoming increasingly difficult as I kept spiraling down. She was trying to protect you. She couldn't help me. She moved out for awhile."

"And Gillian moved in. Wow, that must have made Mom pretty mad."

"It wasn't like _that_, Em. I was never unfaithful to your mum. And don't _ever_ insult Gillian like that. But there were other ways in which she felt betrayed I think."

"How?"

"I think she's never understood why she couldn't reach me, but Gillian could."

"Why was that?"

"I don't know. It's easier to talk with Gillian." Emily nodded in agreement, then flashed guilt. Cal knew how she felt. "It's understandable, Emily. That's her training. She was a therapist when I first met her, before I got her to join my team. She was a damned good therapist. She spent a lot of time counseling agents, and they are tough nuts to crack. She doesn't judge. She takes what you say and worries about how it affects _you_, not her. She knows when to push, when to let it alone. Your mum wants to push all the time. So do I, come to think of it. But Gillian knows how to break down your walls without breaking you in the process."

"Is that why they dislike each other so much?"

He chose his words carefully. "I think Gillian thinks your mum deserted me when I needed her the most."

"And Mom knows she's right."

"Hey! Watch yourself. I think your mum feels guilty that she didn't know how to help. You know she doesn't like to fail. And watching Gillian get me back on my feet when she couldn't? Well, I don't know that your mum has ever been able to forgive her for that."

"You'd think she'd be happy that _someone_ was able to help you."

He threw down the dishtowel. "Your mom put up with a lot of crap from me, from her bosses, from her parents who never liked me much, from her friends who hated me outright. Don't judge her."

"That summer was the beginning of the end for the two of you, wasn't it? I mean, I remember coming home that fall. I didn't really understand it at the time, but I could tell that you both had somehow changed. The two of you always argued, but after that summer it was really bad. And it never got better. It just got worse."

"We tried to fix it. We tried for a long time, but we couldn't. You saw the worst of that fall-out. I'm sorry about that, love."

"After that summer, I always felt like she had one foot out the door."

He walked over to Emily, took her chin in his hands, and held her face for a moment. "Don't you judge your mum, Emily. I glossed over a lot of details about my behavior. Let's face it, even in the best of times I'm not a charmer. That summer was my lowest point. I was drinking, gambling, doing a lot of things I would be ashamed for you to know about. She put up with a lot, went through a lot of pain because of me, and she still tried to make it work. She stayed two more years trying to make it work. Her story about that summer would sound a lot different than mine, and there's truth in both of them. But now you see why I'm so hell-bent on helping Gillian. I'm not letting her go through this alone."

When he talked about Gillian, she thought she heard more in his voice than just a desire to repay a favor, but that was a discussion for a different time. "Okay, Dad. Thanks for trusting me enough with your version." They hugged tightly.

He turned her around and pushed her out of the kitchen into the living room. "Now off to bed with you."

"Dad? I want to stay. I want to be here for Gillian, too."

He fought a smile, gave a quick nod instead as he came alongside her. They heard a cry from the guest room. "Bloody hell!" He began running toward the stairs.

"Just stay with her, Dad." He slowed down slightly to look at her questioningly. "I'm not a child. She shouldn't be alone, especially at night. I won't be all weirded out or think you're a hypocrite if you sleep in the guest room. Or she sleeps in your room. Whatever she needs."

"Love you, Em. Catch the lights for me." He took the stairs two at a time. She turned out the light and followed him up. As she headed to her room, she could hear Gillian crying and him whispering, "Sh, love. I've got you. . . . It's gonna be okay. . . . I won't let go. You're safe with me." She nodded at the truths of those statements as she shut her door and crawled back into bed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Many thanks to pellucid, whose review brought up a very interesting point about Cal's methods that I tried to explore here.**

When Patricia saw who was penciled in as her next appointment, she sighed. It all started six months ago as a favor for her favorite professor. She couldn't say he hadn't warned her, though:

* * * * *

_Six Months Ago- Patricia's Home 12:15 p.m._

"Hello."

"Patricia, it's Paul. Paul Ekman. I'm sorry to call on a Saturday, but I have a huge favor to ask of you. I just found out that a person very dear to me was the victim of rape almost twenty years ago. It all seems to be coming to a head now, and she needs someone to talk to."

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Paul. Twenty years ago? That's a long time to repress all those emotions. I'm happy to talk with her, anything I can do for you. What do you want me to know?"

"Can you see her today?"

"Today? Wait, you said things were coming to a head. Is she suicidal? Paul, you'd be better served with calling 911 and getting a 72 hour hold if she's suicidal. I can make the arrangements with the hospital now and see her first thing Monday before I have my rounds."

"Patricia, I don't think she's . . . I just would rather you meet with her before we take any action like that. And I would really appreciate your seeing her today if you can. Her business partner called me. He's frantic, as well he should be about something this serious, but you have to understand that he (a) tends to get frantic about _anything_ to do with her and (b) lost someone to suicide so he tends to think worst-case scenario whenever someone he cares about is dealing with something serious. I've known her for a long time, and I can't imagine her ever wanting to take her own life, but I would feel much safer if you saw her today. Before you take her on, though, I should . . . _explain_ their dynamics to you."

"Okay. Let's start with her name."

"Gillian. Gillian Foster."

"Your Gillian? The Gillian you always talked about in class? She gave that special presentation on content based deception analysis that I still reference in my work. She was raped? Do you know any details?"

"Not much. I don't know that she has a lot of details. Cal said she thinks she remembers a salty drink someone gave her and then woke up the next morning with quite a hangover. He said she didn't even suspect she was raped until over a year later."

"Salty taste? That's the mark of those so-called 'date rape' drugs. No, she won't have many details if that's the case. Which is what makes the rape particularly difficult for a survivor to deal with. Not a lot of closure available. This won't be easy for her. You told her about my work, right? Is that why she wants to see me?" There was silence. "Paul?"

"There's a chance she doesn't know about you yet."

"Paul, it's best if _she's_ the one to initiate therapy. You know that. You taught me that."

"I haven't talked with her, only her partner."

"Well, whoever her partner is, he should know better than – oh my God, you said 'Cal'. I just remembered. Her partner's Cal Lightman."

"Yes."

"He's famous. And infamous, if even half the stories can be believed."

"He's one of the most brilliant men I know, and you can safely believe _all_ the stories you've heard; I'm sure they are just the tip of the iceberg. I think we can assume with some certainty that he somehow finagled the truth out of Gillian and is now in panic mode. Cal in panic mode is a steamroller, no thought to consequences. Luckily, he doesn't panic about anything . . . except Gillian or his daughter. He won't have any patience. Gillian is the only one who can calm him down when he gets like this, but since it is about her, forget it."

"He'll want results yesterday."

"Try three weeks ago."

"Anything else I should know?"

"They've been desperately in love with each other for years. Haven't admitted it yet."

"Shoot, Paul, you certainly don't make it easy, do you?" Her husband wandered through the kitchen. "Hang on, Paul, for a moment." She covered the phone as she turned to her husband, "Doug, I need to see a new patient today. Can you --?"

He looked concerned. "Everything okay?"

"I think so. I don't know. One of Paul Ekman's friends needs my help, and I'll feel better if I don't push her back to Monday. I just hate to leave you in the lurch with Bobby and Henry."

Doug rubbed his hands together. "This is the perfect excuse for us to work on your birthday present. We'll be fine, do manly man stuff with power tools. Go."

She mouthed "I love you" as she turned back to the phone. "Paul, I'll meet them at the office at 4 today. You have directions, right?"

"I've got what I need and I'll call him now. You're a godsend, Patricia. And you let me know if Cal gives you any grief, okay?"

"Will do, Paul. Thanks for your confidence in me."

Cal give her grief? Just a _small_ sampling of the highlights:

* * * * *

_Five Months Ago – Patricia's House 12:30 a.m._

"Hello?"

"I want the bastards who did this to her."

"Who is this?"

"Cal Lightman, and I want the bastards who did this to her."

"What time is it?"

"No idea. What can we do to help her remember so that we can get these guys?"

"Nothing. It's 12:30, Cal. Some people are in bed. Sleeping."

"You said to call anytime."

Doug rolled over. "Honey? Was that the phone? Is everything okay?"

"Hold on, Cal." She kissed her husband. "Go back to sleep. I'll take this in the other room."

"Who's Cal?"

"It's work, honey." She quickly donned a robe and walked to her desk in the study. "Okay, Cal. What's really going on?"

"She doesn't sleep, you know. Or maybe you don't know. She doesn't tell me what she tells you in your sessions, and you just keep telling me to give her space." Ironically, it was the one thing, the _only_ thing, Cal was incapable of giving Gillian. "She has these awful nightmares. Two, three, even four times a night."

"I can prescribe a sedative that might help her sleep. I'll discuss it with her later today. Does she talk about the nightmares? Remember them?"

"I don't know. I calm her down and she goes back to sleep. Maybe two hours and they start again. Whoever did this to her needs to pay. How do we get him? Them?"

"We don't, Cal. You know that. She went to the police after a year, and they couldn't help her. Twenty years later? Not a chance. She has no memory of the attack. That's the point of these types of drugs. They've got amnesiac properties."

"I want justice."

"No, Cal. You want revenge. And it's understandable. But it's not helpful. Justice for Gillian now is a life well lived without fear. That's what we are working toward."

"That's justice? It's worthless."

"Cal, once you can accept that it is the only form of justice available to Gillian now, then you'll be in a better position to determine its value."

There was silence. Then, "Bloody hell, she's crying again. We'll continue this tomorrow, Patricia." He hung up before she could say goodnight.

* * * * *

_Four Months Ago – Patricia's House 12:45 a.m._

"Hello?"

"Stop telling me to give her space."

"Cal?"

"Yes. Stop telling me to give Gillian space. It's the one thing I can't do."

"Stop treating her like a victim, Cal. She's a survivor, not a victim."

Click.

* * * * *

_Three Months Ago – Patricia's House 3:34 a.m._

"Hello?"

"She's still having those bloody nightmares!"

"C-Cal? Is this Cal?"

"Yes, and she's still having those nightmares. She can't sleep. She's not eating. How in hell are you helping her? She's _worse_."

"Who is it, Patricia?" Doug sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Did I hear you say 'Cal'? Again? Does the man NOT own a clock?!?"

"Hang on, Cal. Go back to sleep, Doug." With a feeling of déjà vu, Patricia threw on a robe and stumbled to her study. "It's 3:30, Cal. In the morning."

"Your point being?"

"Couldn't this wait? I see Gillian later today. You are always with her. You could have told me then."

"You said call anytime."

"I think I may have to revoke that privilege from you."

"We're awake here. Well, I am. I finally got her settled again. I don't know how much longer she can last like this."

"Did she try the sedatives I prescribed?"

"She's tried them, but she won't bloody take them. She says the nightmares don't go away; everything just becomes fuzzy and she doesn't feel in control. You know her father's an alcoholic and her wanker of an ex-husband is a user. Getting her to take _aspirin_ requires a whip and a chair. Prescription sedatives? She won't bloody take them. She's getting _worse_, Patricia."

"I told you she would, Cal. I know this is difficult right now, but she _is_ making progress."

"How? Where? She's lost weight. She's scared to sleep. She won't let me touch her unless we're in bed."

"Really?"

"Bloody hell! You know damn well that didn't come out right. When she has a nightmare and I comfort her she clings to me. Otherwise, during the day, if I pat her hand or take her arm or even if we just accidentally touch as we pass each other in the hallway, it _hurts_ her. And it's not just me. Anyone's touch upsets her. That's not who she is, Patricia. My Gillian reaches out to _everyone_ – holds a hand, strokes an arm, touches a shoulder to give comfort. Now she just shrinks in on herself. How in hell is that progress?"

"Cal, we talked about this. She spent the better part of two decades denying to herself that it ever happened. She is finally dealing with the trauma of being raped, and since she has now admitted it she is re-experiencing the initial feelings she had. We call it the 'reactivation' stage. With most survivors this stage is characterized by a triggering of memories. Since Gillian has no memories of the attack, her imagination is creating them for her. Or against her really. We don't know how long it will take for her to deal with all these emotions, but I promise you this is progress. I will talk with her about her eating and sleeping. During our office visit." She heard ice clinking in a glass. "You need to go to sleep, Cal. You are her rock right now, and the best thing you can do for her is take care of yourself. You need a break. A few days away from her."

"No."

"It really wasn't a request, Cal. Why don't you at least let someone else bring her to therapy today? Gillian has other friends. Call Paul. Camille and he can take her to dinner afterwards. You need some time away from her. Give her space." There was silence. "Cal?"

"I'll see you at 5, Patricia. Go back to bed."

* * * * *

_Six weeks ago – Patricia's Office 12:15 p.m_.

"Dr. Dickinson? Cal Lightman's on line 1. I tried to explain that you were at lunch, but he says it's an emergency."

"Thanks, Marcia. I'll take it." She took a deep breath and prayed for patience. "Cal?"

"You told her to move out?!?"

"No, Cal. She asked me last week whether I thought she was ready to be on her own. I told her only she could decide that for herself. I guess she's now decided she's ready. This is good news."

"Good news? She is not even close to being ready to be on her own. You know those dammed nightmares just stopped a couple of weeks ago. We don't even know if they are gone for good."

"Doesn't matter. She feels now that she has the tools she needs to deal with the nightmares if they return."

"I don't know what kind of psycho-babble crap you've been feeding her . . ."

"Cal, she needs to . . ."

"Bloody reckless you're being . . ."

"Cal, this is a natural progression . . ."

". . . damned irresponsible to let her . . ."

"Gillian knows that you will . . ."

". . . completely unprofessional . . ."

"Cal!" Now that she had his attention, she took a deep breath. "Cal, you are _way_ out of line here. Gillian has made a choice and you need to respect that choice. Insulting me is not going to help you here."

"I'm calling Ekman."

"You're going to tell the teacher on me?" Her voice, angry before, was filled with both incredulity and amusement. She felt as well as heard him hang up.

* * * * *

To be fair, that last encounter got them free babysitting and a wonderful dinner at Minibar in downtown D.C. Considering most people needed to make reservations at least a month in advance, Patricia could only imagine the favors Cal called in to accommodate them. She didn't know whether she should be thanking Gillian or Paul, but after that meal, Cal's apology was definitely accepted. It didn't mean, however, that she was looking forward to this encounter.

She opened the door to find him pacing in the waiting room. Thank goodness he was the last appointment of the evening; he would have scared away any other poor soul unfortunate enough to have to sit with him. He stalked into her office. She had always thought of it as cozy, but now she wished it were twice its size. She moved around to sit behind her desk again. As she watched him, she remembered as a child going to the zoo and seeing a tiger pace in a cage too small for him. Cal brought back those memories. When you broke him down into component parts, Cal was not that intimidating. Patricia was taller than he was. Doug was twice his size. Yet the amount of energy his body struggled to contain really took her breath away. He truly was a force of nature, today positively crackling with frustration and anger, and right now she felt a little like Dorothy with the tornado bearing down her path.

Cal didn't speak for several minutes. Finally, "She's mad at me!"

She gave a brief nod. "Did she say why?"

"She said I overstepped my bounds and didn't respect the line. I told her we threw out that line months ago, but she says since I don't respect the line, I don't respect her. She is barely speaking to me."

"Explain the line."

"You know what it is." When she didn't respond, he said with exasperation, "We can see too much so we agreed – well, she insisted – that we couldn't act on what we saw unless the other person actually told us about it."

"Like not following Alec when you thought he was cheating on Gillian because Gillian actually hadn't confided in you about her marriage. But you ignored the line and followed him anyway."

"He _was_ cheating on her. I didn't want her to get hurt."

"But you didn't respect the line."

"I told her months ago that I have always hated that line. I told her that I wouldn't follow it anymore. This isn't about that bloody line. I want a better answer."

"Anger is a positive sign for Gillian, Cal. It's a good step forward."

"Is that the best you lot can do? I am so dammed sick and tired of this crap. You keep telling me something is progress or a good step when . . ."

She raised her hand. "Cal, the last time you insulted me and my profession, Doug and I put quite a dent in your credit card. The next time I'll settle for nothing less than a state dinner invitation."

He stopped pacing for a moment and hung his head. "That reminds me – Emily said your boys were very well behaved. She enjoyed caring for them that evening. She wanted me to ask you to say hello to them for her."

"Your daughter is a wonder, Cal. She must take after her mother." He grunted in acknowledgement of the hit. "I hope you paid her well for her time."

"Gillian and she are shopping right now with my credit card. At least she's still talking with my daughter." He started pacing again. "She hates me."

"She doesn't hate you, Cal. She's mad at you. Anger is the next step in the healing process. Of course, Gillian doesn't know her assailant and can't direct her anger there. Sometimes when that happens a family member or close friend receives the brunt of it."

He brightened slightly. "So I'm just the vessel for her deflected anger."

"Oh no, she's mad at _you_. And she has a legitimate reason to be."

"I've done nothing but help her as soon as she told me what happened. You told me I was her rock."

"Yes."

"You keep telling me she's getting better."

"Yes."

"You told me she needed to deal with all these emotions and that she needed supportive people around her."

"Yes. You've been incredibly supportive, and she still has every reason to be angry with you."

"What in bloody hell did I do except everything in my power to help her?"

"It's _how_ you helped that's the problem."

"You're not making sense, woman."

"Cal, did Gillian have any control over her rape?"

"No, don't be daft!"

"Exactly. Gillian had something taken from her – many things, actually – without her knowledge or consent. The only thing she could control was how she dealt with it."

"She wasn't dealing with it at all!"

"Cal, she finished school, found a job, got married, adopted a daughter, mourned her loss, started a company, made friends. I mean, she was repressing her emotions and letting them fester until they reached a level that was unsustainable, but I'd say she also created a life for herself."

"A life she was going to lose unless she dealt with what happened!"

"Cal, she deserved the chance to tell people what happened on her terms."

"And you're saying I forced her to tell me?"

"Not exactly. You definitely pressured her, but in the end she made the choice to tell you."

"Then I bloody hell don't know how I've disrespected her."

"Cal, what did you do after she told you?"

"I got her the help she needed!"

"How?"

"I called Paul."

"Exactly."

He snarled in frustration, "He brought us to you. Why is that bad?"

"God, Cal, for someone so brilliant you certainly need to have it spelled out for you. Did you have Gillian's permission to tell Paul her story?"

For the first time since she had met him, Cal's mask slipped. Luckily he was standing in front of one of her chairs as his legs slowly gave way. "No."

"Exactly." Her voice gentled slightly as she walked over to sit in the opposite chair. She could tell from the look on his face that he finally understood.

"I took her choices away from her."

"Yes."

"I just steamrolled over her, never gave her a chance to decide how _she_ wanted to proceed."

"Exactly. You took away her control. And not just by telling Paul. What kind of work has she been doing at the Lightman Group these past few months?"

He was first defiant, then hung his head. "I didn't want to stress her out. She's been dealing with administrative issues. Casework has been done by Torres or me."

"Yes. You've been treating her like a victim, defining her by that night twenty years ago. She's angry. And she's right to be. She lost control over how to handle a trauma that was about her having no control. When you found out her story and started making all her decisions for her, well that's the point of the line for her. The line you hate. She needs to feel in control almost as much as you do, especially given what happened to her."

He raked his fingers through his hair. "Christ, I screwed up. I've never seen her so angry."

"I'm proud of her. This is a positive sign." At his glance, she retreated slightly. "Okay, it stinks for you right now, but it's a positive sign in the bigger sense. Gillian didn't know how to process anger. She has been the peacemaker her entire life, always denying her own emotions. Now she's angry with you and she is letting you know it. That part is great. She must trust you to let you see that side of her."

He slammed his fist on the coffee table. "Bloody idiot! I'm a bloody idiot!"

"You panicked, Cal. It's as simple as that. She knows that, but the anger is getting in the way right now. Once we work through her anger and you apologize, she'll see it again. You'll both get through this."

"I didn't want to fail her, too. But I did. I can't believe how stupid I was."

"'Fail her, too'? Explain. Whom did you fail?" He shook his head slightly as he buried his face in his hands. "Cal, whom did you fail?"

She wasn't sure he would answer, but she had learned to wait patiently. "My mum."

"What happened?"

"She was depressed. Had been since I was young. In and out of hospital. When I went off to university she convinced the doctors to give her a weekend pass. She . . . she . . . I should have seen it. They taped their interview with her when she asked for that bloody pass. She was smiling with the doctors, but when you slow the film, turn off the sound. . . She was in agony. I couldn't see it. I didn't know how yet. I failed her. I didn't want to fail Gillian, too. But I did anyway. More proof that I'm not bloody good enough."

"You didn't fail your mom, Cal. And you certainly didn't fail Gillian. You screwed up with Gillian, but you didn't fail her. I haven't been sitting here the last six months watching a man fail. I've been watching you shoulder burden after burden trying to help her. We may disagree about your methods, but no one questions the love behind your actions. Not even Gillian."

"I've screwed it all up. Thinking I was helping . . . I'm a bloody idiot."

"Gillian's not lost to you, Cal. She's still here." He started pacing again. "Cal, talk with her. _Listen_ to her. Apologize. Validate her feelings. Show her you understand that you screwed up. Let her know she has a right to be angry. Your situation with Gillian is fixable. So go fix it."


	9. Chapter 9

**A couple of people have asked (including my poor husband) so I just thought I would mention that none of this is coming from personal experience. I appreciate your tolerance in letting me explore such a difficult topic.**

If Gillian hadn't been walking past her living room window at just that moment, she wouldn't have noticed his car pull up. She debated whether she wanted to let him in. Their last several encounters hadn't gone well. She was so angry with him, and he was completely oblivious. He was still making decisions for her; apparently no choice of hers was too small to be beneath his notice or control. She kept telling him she could decide things for herself, but he gave her a verbal version of the "pat on the head" and continued to steamroll over her.

Things really came to a head this morning. It all started yesterday when they got a new case. Actually, _she_ took the call from the FBI and scheduled the appointment with the deputy director. The next thing she knew Torres and Loker were heading to the meeting while Cal asked her to review film with him from a prior case to complete a report. She lit into him for bypassing her and giving the case to Torres. She was sick of it. He acted like she hadn't even spoken, just told her she was too important to be anywhere but the office. The film review ended up being completely unnecessary; Loker had already done a thorough job of marking it. She didn't even think Cal was paying attention. He was too busy checking to see how she was and if she needed anything. She told him she _needed_ to be at the meeting with the FBI. He ignored her.

By lunchtime she was fuming and ready to get away from the office for awhile, but he walked in with a lunch he'd already ordered for them. Yes, he did pick her favorite menu item from her favorite Chinese restaurant, but that wasn't the point. He just sat down and dished out a plate for her (What was she – three? Was he going to start cutting her meat for her now?). Then he spent the entire lunch hour discussing her upcoming shopping trip with Emily. She tried multiple times to turn the conversation to business, asking questions about their outstanding cases and new clients, but he kept u-turning right back to the girls' shopping night. He wasn't fazed when her answers became either monosyllabic or nonexistent. She spent the rest of the afternoon dealing with billing and payroll. She was determined that today would be different.

Instead, this morning she found him pacing at Heidi's desk and demanding to know why she was thirty minutes late for work. She'd had it. She told him she didn't remember needing to punch a time card before, and the argument got pretty heated from there. When she mentioned the line, he erupted. When he let slip the word "victim", she erupted. Her parting shot was telling him that he clearly didn't respect her anymore. He stared at her in utter befuddlement as she stormed out of the office, wanting to be anywhere but in his presence.

It might not have been the best day to have access to his credit card. Let's just say, uniform or no, Emily would be the best-dressed girl at school, and she might not need to repeat an outfit before graduation. From college.

As she wavered between letting him in (so she could yell at him in private) and slamming the door in his face (a deliciously satisfying choice), she noted the time passing with no movement from outside. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. Damn, it would be just like him to create an elaborate plan to ensure she would let him come in. Of course, against her better nature, she was now starting to worry, and he would know that. Had he seen her when he pulled up? Was he timing it just right, waiting until her curiosity overtook her anger and she'd be anxious to see him? At eighteen minutes, the driver side door slowly opened. The knock on her door was so soft she might have missed it if she hadn't been expecting it. She opened the door quickly, ready to – she didn't know what yet, but she was ready to do something – when she stopped. The Cal at her door was not a Cal she had seen before.

"Hi, Gillian. I hope you don't mind my stopping by. I probably should have called first." Cal barely looked at her before studying his feet as he kicked the heel of one boot with the toe of the other, his hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.

"You probably should have." He started to turn away, but she didn't have it in her to be _that_ rude. "You're here now. What do you need?"

He spun back around, head still down, but let the silence grow a moment longer. "I saw Emily earlier, stopped by the house before coming here. She had a wonderful time with you this afternoon. She was trying on some of her new clothes. Dick's taking her to dinner and a movie. She said to tell you she decided on the white blouse with black pants and the blue scarf thing."

Gillian nodded. "Good choice. And it's Rick."

"Yeah, Rick," he looked at her with a ghost of a smile, but it disappeared when he saw she was having none of it. "Anyway, she had fun with you. Thanks for taking her out. She likes spending time with you."

"I like spending time with her."

"So," he started kicking his boots again. "Have you eaten?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Cal, I'm really angry with you right now and not much in the mood for small talk. What do you need?"

He looked up at her. _Fear_, she noted, a rare expression for him. "I know you're angry. I . . . I was wondering if I could come in and talk to you for a few moments . . . if it wouldn't be too much of a bother. I'll certainly understand if you say no, especially since I didn't call first, but I have something I need to say to you."

_Yell at him in private or slam the door in his face?_ Oh, who was she kidding? She backed up and opened the door wider. "Come on in."

He hesitated before crossing the threshold, wandering around the room a bit before settling on the couch. Initially she was defiant in not acting the role of hostess, but in the end she broke down and offered him a drink and was surprised when he requested water. He took a small sip and waited for her to sit down. She sat at the other end of the couch, placing the throw pillows between them. "Do you want to say anything first? Yell at me?"

"It's your meeting, Cal. Go ahead."

"Okay." He took a deep breath. "I know you're mad at me, and I understand why. I get it, Gillian, I really get it." He looked in her eyes so she could see the truth of his statement. "I was thinking on the car ride over, trying to remember. How long had we known each other before I told you about my mum?"

"About a year. It was right before I joined your team."

He nodded, "Right. And how long had we known each other before I told you about Elizabeth?"

She thought. "Maybe three or four years."

"Yeah. That sounds about right. Zoe, Emily, and you are the only people here who know about my mum. You are the only person I've told about Elizabeth. Not even Zoe knows about her." She was surprised by that statement. "I know we've talked about this before, but I was just remembering telling you about when I had to go through my mum's things and I found that box . . . I couldn't believe I once had a sister. Mum had told no one about her. I mean no one. I was only eighteen months when she was born and twenty-two months when she died. She was never mentioned. No pictures, no stories . . . it was like Elizabeth had never existed. When I saw her death certificate and realized Mum had . . . died . . . on what would have been Elizabeth's sixteenth birthday, I was shattered. How did she keep that part of her life so completely hidden from the rest of us? From me? You know her doctors didn't know anything about it." She nodded, remembering his story. "I confronted one of them with the news, and he was stunned. He said they would never have agreed to her pass if they had known about Elizabeth."

He looked at his hands, which he seemed to be wringing in his lap. "That's all I could think about when you told me your story. I just kept thinking about my mum and how both of you had this traumatic experience that you felt like you couldn't tell anyone. And my mum's secret finally killed her. I panicked, Gillian. I know that's no excuse and I know you and my mum are worlds apart, but I panicked. And now I have this dilemma. Because in the car I was thinking about how you're the only person I ever told about Elizabeth, and I did that because I knew I could trust you. Even then I waited four years to tell you. So I get your waiting to tell me. _I get it_. Twelve years seems like a long time, but I get your needing to wait. And then you finally trust me with your story and the first thing I do is betray you by calling Paul behind your back. I swear to God, Gillian, I couldn't stop thinking about my mum and how she might still be here if the right people with the right information could have helped her, but I know I betrayed your trust. I was thinking in the car that if our roles were reversed and I found out you had decided to tell Zoe about Elizabeth, I would be so angry. I might never want to speak to you again. So I get how mad you are. I get that, too. The problem is that I don't know how to fix it. I need you to tell me how to fix it." She held her breath when she saw his shoulders start to shake. In twelve years, she had never seen him cry. "Please don't leave me, Gillian. I know I screwed up, but I don't know how to fix it. Please just tell me how to fix it."

Looking at him she could suddenly imagine the 9 year old boy watching his mother being taken away from him, having to rely on the kindness of someone else's family while she weaved in and out of his life, slowly slipping away until she finally was gone. She could imagine the 17 year old boy sitting alone in the morgue after identifying her body. She could imagine the look on his face as he opened that box to find evidence of a sister who left him before he even knew about her. She remembered the phone call she received the day Zoe packed up Emily and moved out. Cal wasn't the one who called her; the bartender at one of his favorite pubs speed-dialed Cal's cell until someone answered who was willing to help him after he passed out in a puddle of beer and vomit in the men's room. She never really noticed before that the women most important to Cal had all eventually abandoned him. Except for her. She remembered that long summer after the Pentagon debacle, his response during one of their epic battles: _When are you going to get it through that daft head of yours that I'm bloody well not worth it? When will you figure it out and leave me, too?_ She remembered his words when she told him about being raped: _I've lived this before, and I'll be dammed if another woman I love tells me with a smile she's fine and then permanently removes herself from my life. I'm not burying you. _Those words haunted her now.

"Cal, look at me. Please." But he wouldn't. "I am not your mother. You are more important to me than I could ever say. Emily and you are everything to me. I may be angry, but I'm not going anywhere."

Gillian caught him as he fell into her, stroking the back of his head as he cried, "I'm sorry. I screwed up. I don't know how to fix it. I never meant to hurt you."

"Sh, Cal. I know you're sorry. It's okay. We'll figure it out together."

When Cal's sobs transitioned to hiccups and then slow and steady breathing, she thought he had gone to sleep. She started to ease away from him when his arms tightened around her. "I'm so sorry, Gillian."

"I know, Cal. We'll fix it."

Slowly he pulled away, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands and looking more than a little embarrassed. "Christ, I'm tired."

"Why don't you take a rest in the spare room? I have to go out for a little while. I can wake you to be home in plenty of time to interrogate Rick when he brings Emily back."

"You're leaving? Where are you . . . I mean, would you like some company?"

She smiled at the effort. "Patricia suggested I start attending a rape support group. Tonight's my first meeting. You'd just end up waiting for me in the lobby if you came."

"I don't mind waiting for you. I've still got some files in the car that I need to review." He shook his head sheepishly. "Sorry, love. It's your decision, and I'll respect it. Thanks for letting me stay here."

She debated. "Have you eaten?"

"No. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

"There's a diner across the street from my meeting. Why don't I drive? You can grab a bite and go through the files. I'll meet you there afterwards for dessert."

She knew there was no universal sign for gratitude, but there definitely was a Cal sign for it. Yell at him in private or slam the door in his face? She forgot about option 3: Listen to his apology and forgive him so both of you can start fresh with a new understanding. Yeah, she liked option 3 best.


	10. Chapter 10

That night at the diner proved to be their new beginning. The first thing Cal did when he walked in was check out the desserts. There was one piece of chocolate silk pie remaining in the case; he promptly ordered it for Gillian and asked that it be kept cold until she arrived. He grabbed a booth by the window and spread files around the table, reading while he ate his meal. After about ninety minutes or so he saw Gillian exit her meeting with a few women. He watched as she chatted with them briefly, shook hands with some, waved goodbye to others, hugged one, and then started across the street. He cleaned up the files to make room for her and quickly picked up her piece of pie. She smiled when she saw both him and chocolate waiting for her. "Hope you don't mind, love, but it was the last piece and I wanted to make sure you got it."

"Exactly what I wanted."

"How was your meeting?"

"Strange. Okay, I guess. It's odd. I hear their stories and feel blessed that I don't have the kinds of memories they have to deal with. But in some ways their stories make me feel like a fraud. I know I belong there, but I don't have a lot to share." She picked up her fork, "It was my first meeting. I'm sure it will be better next week. Let's talk about something else."

This morning's Cal might have pushed, argued, told her she was crazy to feel like a fraud. Now he just touched her hand, said he understood and hoped next week would be better, and ordered coffee for both of them. As she ate, they talked. Really talked. About work, life, the weather, movies, books. It felt good. Conversation was free-flowing, not stilted. The ground beneath their feet felt solid again. By the time she drove them back to her house, they were laughing. About silly things. About the day they each realized all their favorite songs were now on the oldies station. About the latest dust-up between Loker and Torres. About the secret office pool predicting when Loker's radical honesty policy would get him punched again (Gillian had two weeks; Cal had three days, but Gillian threatened to disqualify him because he made his bet _after_ he scheduled a meeting with one particular client). They held each other a little longer as they hugged goodnight, and he didn't leave until she was fully inside the house with doors locked. For the first time in months he was smiling as he drove home. He even let Rick off the hook. Sort of.

The next months continued the trend. Of course, it wasn't all smooth sailing. There were still times when Gillian flinched at Cal's touch or blew up at him unexpectedly, but he accepted that anger was a part of her healing process and no longer panicked and demanded answers from Patricia. There were still times when Cal made decisions for Gillian without consulting her, but she remembered that was a bad habit of his before "the reveal" and didn't take it so much to heart as a sign he thought of her as a victim. She was back on cases, even though Cal held his breath whenever she left the office for a solo meeting. And if she noticed that sometimes Loker's presence wasn't really necessary, she still didn't fight too much when Cal occasionally asked her to let Eli tag along. Because he _asked_.

The line was again in place, but it was more of a fence than a wall. It wasn't so much that Cal ignored the truth until Gillian said something; now he acknowledged what he saw and asked her if she wanted to talk about it. And he accepted "no" as an answer. And because he accepted no, her answer became more often "yes" or at least "not right now, but soon". He opened up more to her, too. Stories that once were glossed over with "a spot of bother – nothing for you to worry about" became fodder for discussion and analysis. They could talk for hours.

Her support group night became a ritual for them, but Cal never assumed he was invited. Each week he would ask if she wanted company. She appreciated the gesture. One night early on she said no as a kind of test, and he didn't question her or become upset. She found herself missing him that evening and never said no again. They were now considered regulars at the diner. The owner always saved a piece of chocolate something for Gillian, and the waitress opened a bottle of his favorite beer as soon as Cal walked in. Cal noticed the envious looks he received from the other men when Gillian joined him, but her smile was always only for him. Gillian noticed the envious looks she received from the other women when she sat down across from Cal, but his smile was always only for her. The evenings that she had started off dreading when Patricia first suggested she join the group became the night of the week she most anticipated because she knew Cal was waiting for her at the end of it.

* * * * *

"Gillian!" She jerked up from her computer, surprised to see Emily flying into her office with Cal hot on her heels. "Tell Dad he is being completely unreasonable!"

"Emily! Don't you dare try to drag Gillian into the middle of this!" Her office door slammed behind him. "Sorry, love," he acknowledged her and then immediately turned back to Emily. "This little stunt is reinforcing my decision. And the answer is definitely no."

"This is crazy, Dad! You know Max, and we'd just be going as friends. Rick says it's okay with him. Mom says it's fine. You're the only one who won't let me go. Gillian, tell Dad he is being crazy!"

"Emily, I don't know what is going on, but it's between your parents and you."

"No, just me and Dad. _Mom_ says it's fine with _her_." She turned back to her father whose face looked like thunder. "You know Max and I are just friends. You know when you figured out his birth parent situation, they all ended up moving so they could live together as a family. That meant Max had to change schools, and he still feels like a freak. It's homecoming. He wants a familiar face with him. _As a friend_. Why won't you let me go?"

"It's not up for discussion, Emily. Leave Gillian out of it." He pointed back to his office.

"Fine, Dad. You never let me do anything anymore. I'm calling Mom to pick me up. I'll stay with _her_ tonight."

"Don't try to play us off each other, Emily. My answer remains the same." He marched Emily out of Gillian's office.

Thirty minutes later he was back, leaning against her office door. "Sorry about that, love. It's not fair to you when we drag you in the middle of these things."

"It's okay, Cal. Why don't you want her to go to Max's party?"

"We don't know anyone who goes to that school, Gillian. No one but Max, and we don't know him all that well. It's a homecoming dance and apparently a lot of the college kids come back to attend it. From what little Max and Emily can tell me, there aren't enough chaperones and they'd be catching a ride with a group of guys Max barely knows. I offered to chaperone, figured I'd force Loker and Torres and ask you to come with me, but since she doesn't go to that school my national security clearance isn't enough to get the administration to trust me. Under these circumstances she can't go. Period. She's too trusting of people. I don't want her to find herself in a bad situation. She's mad at me, and she's gonna be mad for awhile, but I don't see another way around it."

His voice was nonchalant, but she knew how difficult it was for him when he had to disappoint Emily. She had noticed that he was much more conservative on what he let Emily do these days. She wondered how much of that was a result of her past. Maybe she could think of something.

* * * * *

The next day Cal wandered into the lab to find Eli and Ria reviewing film for one of their current cases. "Loker. Torres. Have either of you seen Foster?"

Loker turned around. "Not since she left for lunch."

"She's still gone?"

"Yeah, she said she had a meeting. Left over an hour ago."

"Hmm. Client meeting?" Eli shrugged. "Okay. I'll be in my office then."

Thirty minutes later he looked up to see Gillian and Zoe walk into his office. "Oh God, no good can come from the two of you in my office together."

Zoe smirked. "Nice to see you, too, Cal. Gillian called and asked me to meet her for lunch. She thinks she might have a solution that would make you more comfortable letting Emily attend the dance with Max."

He looked meaningfully at Gillian. "I thought I told you not to get in the middle of this one, love."

She sat down in one of his chairs. "No, you said Emily shouldn't put me in the middle of it. Don't worry. I didn't say anything to Emily. You said _you_ couldn't think of a way they could go. You didn't tell me _I_ couldn't try to think of something. I ran my idea past Zoe to get her take on it. Now we're suggesting it to you. If you don't like this compromise, then your decision stands and Emily never has to know."

Zoe sat down as well. "If you don't like it, Cal, then I'll tell Emily I've changed my mind and neither one of us wants her to go. See if that takes some of the heat off you."

"Well, let's hear it then."

Zoe started, "First, I called Max's parents. All three of them are really anxious for Max to adapt to his new school. It's been hard for him. They were surprised that he even considered attending the dance. He doesn't want to go without Emily, but they understand your feelings as well. They are willing to do whatever it takes for you to feel comfortable. They had been told originally that there were sufficient chaperones for the dance. They made a call to the school and all three of them will be there that night the entire time. They'll also drive Max and Emily there and back."

"Well, that's good."

"Cal," Gillian leaned forward. "I would like to tell Emily what happened to me. I get the feeling that it might be coloring your decision. I was talking with Zoe about it at lunch, and she thinks it is a good idea."

Cal was stunned. "You told Zoe?"

Zoe responded, "Yes, she did. Cal, I think having Gillian talk with Emily is a wonderful idea. You know that you and I can talk about things like this until we're blue in the face, and she'll just chalk it up to overprotective parents. To have Gillian talk to her from her own experience, I think that will really mean something to Emily."

Gillian spoke, "I won't scare her. You had said she was too trusting, and I thought it might help to give her just enough information so that she can be aware of her surroundings and protect herself. If I do that and Max's parents drive them and chaperone, will you let her go?"

Cal was still too shocked to respond. There was no love lost between Zoe and Gillian, but Gillian reached out to her, initiated the conversation, and told Zoe about her experience. And she did it all to help Emily and him. He had to clear his throat a little bit to be able to speak. "Yeah. I' d think having his parents hanging about the whole time would make Max feel like _more_ of a freak, not less, but if those things happen then she can go."

Zoe and Gillian looked at each other and smiled briefly. Zoe stood up, "I've got to get back to work. I'll let you tell Emily, Cal. I'll call Max's parents and let them know." She turned toward Gillian. "Thanks for lunch, Gillian. Thanks . . . for caring about Emily."

"Thanks for meeting with me, Zoe." Their handshake was a little awkward, but there was a rapprochement of sorts.

Cal bounded out of his desk chair. "You," he pointed to Gillian, "stay right here. I'll walk you out, Zoe."

As he escorted Zoe down the hall, she said, "I know what you're going to say, Cal. I can't believe she called me either. Took a lot of courage to tell her story to me."

He nodded. "Yeah. It did." He looked back toward his office, pride flashing across his face. "You know, I did want to talk with you, Zoe. Until this past year I didn't really realize how hard it must have been for you to watch me struggle that summer while you felt so helpless. Now that I've had a bit of experience with it, I want to apologize. I don't think I ever really acknowledged the pain you must have been going through at the time."

She stopped and turned to him, "Emily is very protective of Gillian, but from the little she's said this past year I gleaned Gillian and you were dealing with something big. I had no idea what it was, of course, until today. She's tough. I've never given her enough credit for that."

He smiled. "That she is."

"Cal," She thought for a moment, shook her head, and took two steps toward the door before spinning around. "Oh hell, I'll just say it. The difference between you two and me is that you both hung in there when the other needed you. I didn't."

"Zoe, I pushed you away."

"Cal, I'm not looking to rehash the past. The bottom line is that summer I had a choice to stand by you or leave, and I left because it was easier to do so. We were married, and I still chose to walk away. Gillian had the choice to stand by you or leave, and she stuck with you when no one else would. I know from Emily and now Gillian that you moved heaven and earth to stand by her this year. I'm just saying it says a lot about the . . . love you two have for each other. I think it benefits Emily to see that kind of commitment. I guess I'm just saying that if you and she haven't . . . because you feel guilty about how we ended or you think I'm going to be upset because it's her, then I just want you to remember that I made a choice."

He knew how hard that must have been for her to say. "Thanks, Zoe." He kissed her on the cheek. He thought about saying more, but her phone rang.

"I've got to get this. I'll talk to Max's parents. Thank Gillian again for me, okay?" She waved as she walked out the door.

Cal sprinted back to his office. Gillian had moved to his sofa. He dropped beside her. "You told your story to Zoe."

"Yeah, Cal, I hope you're not upset. . ."

"You told your story to Zoe and want to tell it to Emily."

"I think it would help her understand how easily . . ."

He took her hands in his. "You are amazing. Have I mentioned that today? I am so bloody proud of you."

"Cal, I . . ."

"You're blushing." She tucked her cheek to her shoulder. "Did you talk to Patricia about all this? I think this is a good sign."

"No, I didn't. It felt . . . not _good_ really . . . _right_ to tell her. I wanted to help you, and telling Zoe made sense. I know you don't like it when Emily is mad at you and, let's face it, she was going to be mad for a long time over this one."

"Decades."

"Do you really feel okay about her going now?"

"Yeah."

"Then my work here is done." She smiled and started to stand, but he didn't let go of her hands.

"Gillian, would you like to go to dinner with me?"

"Grab a bite to eat tonight? I can't tonight. Sorry."

"No. Not 'grab a bite to eat'. Would you like to go to dinner with me on Saturday?"

She smiled, a little shyly at first, and cocked her head. "Like a date?"

"Yeah."

"Like a 'you have to wear a suit and make dinner reservations somewhere fancy and clean out your car and pick me up and worry about what to say to make a good first impression' date?"

He smiled. "Exactly like that. Or a 'I can wear a t-shirt and jeans and move all my papers from the front seat to the back seat of my car and pick you up and go out for pizza and beer and see how good you are at billiards' date. I'll let you know which one it is when I pick you up."

Her eyes twinkled. "I'd say yes to either one." She left his office with a spring in her step, and he grinned as he watched her go.


	11. Chapter 11

"Dad!" He set down the paper he was reading as soon as he heard the front door. He had his arms open, ready for her. "I can't believe Gillian had to go through all that!" She launched herself into a bear hug with him, tears flowing freely.

"I guess I don't have to ask how lunch went."

"It's just so sad! That's why she can't have children. It's not fair, Dad!"

"No, love, it's not. If there ever was someone meant to be a mother, it's Gillian."

Emily pulled back from his embrace and wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry I was such a brat about the homecoming dance. But, you know, if you had told me the whole story . . ."

"It wasn't my story to tell."

"No, I guess it wasn't." she sighed. "I'm so glad we were there for her. She said you saved her."

"She was just being kind, love. She did all the hard work."

"Dad, Gillian told me the whole story. How you found the therapist for her. You made sure she went to all her appointments. You sat up with her all those times when she had the nightmares. You were a rock – her words, not mine. She said you were incredible and it was the way she said it . . . she wasn't just being kind."

"Well, that part's not important, Em. Her reason for telling you was so that you can know how to protect yourself from anything like that ever happening to you."

"Oh, Dad. I get it. Believe me, I get it. You've told me before that there are some people out there who are predators, but I never really thought someone I know could get hurt like that. What happened to Gillian was just so freaky and tragic and awful. I mean whoever spiked that drink wasn't even after Gillian, and that other girl will never know what almost happened to her. I won't ever forget this. A simple college party, and her whole life changed. You just can't be too careful." She hugged her dad again and looked at her watch. "It's already 1:30. I'd better go pack up stuff to take to Mom's. Can you drive me over in a couple of hours?" She smiled slyly. "Unless you're going to let me take the car?"

"Nice try, Emily. You haven't had your license long enough to take the car all the way to your mum's house. I'll drive you. What time are Max and his parents picking you up there?"

"The dance starts at 6:30, and the chaperones have to be there right on time. They mentioned a corsage so I know we'll have to take pictures first. You know, the whole awkward 'Does he know how to pin it on?' pose," she rolled her eyes at the prospect. "They said 5:45."

"And what time did your mom set for curfew?"

"Midnight, Dad, like every other Saturday night."

"Just checking." He threw up his hands in mock surrender.

She started up the stairs, climbing three of them before stopping. "Hey, Dad, did you know Gillian is going out on a date tonight?"

"Really?" He kept his back to her.

"Yeah, I invited her to come in, but she said she had to get ready for it. Do you know whom she's dating?"

"None of your business, love." He refolded the newspaper and straightened the already neat pile of magazines on the coffee table.

"I was just thinking that if you were to ask her . . ."

"Emily, go pack."

"You're making a big mistake, Dad." She ran up the stairs, oblivious to the large grin Cal couldn't mask.

By 7 p.m. Cal's plans were in place and he was standing in front of Gillian's door getting ready to knock. He'd never admit it under penalty of death, but he changed three times, finally wearing crisp blue jeans with a sweater and sports coat. Gillian answered quickly, inviting him in while she finished accessorizing and grabbed her purse. She looked beautiful in a long sleeve red sheath dress, the skirt flaring slightly as it brushed her knees. "You gonna be able to play billiards in that, love?" He brushed her hands away while he managed the clasp of the necklace for her.

She smiled, "Thanks. You'd be amazed what I can do in this dress, Cal."

"Are you flirting with me, Gillian?"

"If you have to ask, apparently not well enough."

He grinned. "You look beautiful. Be sure and wear a coat. Part of our evening is outside." She reached in her closet for a matching red cape.

"Did Emily get off okay?"

"I left her at her mum's with a suitcase full of girly stuff. For someone who calls Max just a friend she is certainly going all out to look nice for him."

"It's how we girls operate, Cal. I hope she has fun."

He pulled her to the couch for a moment. "Your talk with her really made an impact. I know it couldn't have been easy for you. Thanks, Gill."

She blushed slightly, but kept his eye contact. "When I was talking to her, I realized there was something I hadn't yet said to you. I don't think I have ever fully thanked you for being there this whole time. I know there were lots of moments when others would have walked away." He shook his head. "Cal, you got the full brunt of all those years of pent-up anger and you stayed by my side when I tried to push you away. You've been my rock, my safety net, my sanctuary, sometimes a pain in my ass." She grinned and he chuckled. "Thank you." Now it was his turn to blush as she hugged him.

His voice was a little gruff. "Okay, enough of that maudlin stuff. We've got a date to go on." They were already laughing as he walked her to his car. She checked the back seat while he opened her door – not a piece of trash or paper in sight. They took a familiar route. "Have to head to the office, love." He parked and grabbed her hand as they walked into the lobby, past their offices and out onto the balcony where a table was set.

"Cal! When did you have time to do this? It's beautiful!" She walked over to the table, noting the linen tablecloth and napkins, the rose buds just starting to open as they floated in a shallow vase of water, the fine china and stemware. Her smile was one of genuine surprise and delight. His was one of quiet triumph.

"Had a few hours to myself after dropping Emily off at Zoe's. Found Loker here so had some slave labor. Had to pay him $50 to scram, though."

"What made you think of this?"

"Well, a restaurant's so boring and crowded and they couldn't guarantee us a view like that one."

"I'll never come out here again without thinking about this."

"Yeah," he nodded. "And you like to come out here a lot."

"Cal, you are a closet romantic."

"Nah. Self-interest really: I know what makes you happy." He pulled out a chair for her and walked back over to the stairs. Only then did she see the insulated coolers. He opened one and pulled out the wine, bringing it back to the table to uncork it. "We'll just let that sit for a moment." He opened the other to unload take-out containers. "La Strada work for you?"

"Oh, Cal, you know Italian is my favorite. Do you want some help?"

"No, no, you just relax." By the time he set out the appetizers and bread and prepared the dipping oil, the wine had breathed. They toasted, smiling at each other like Cheshire cats.

After she took a sip, she set down her glass with a shake of her head. "I can't believe you pulled this off."

"I'm a man of many talents." He served their food. "So talk to me." And she did. They rarely stopped, even as their food eventually got cold. They ate and drank and laughed until finally, "Did you save room for dessert? Ah, stupid question. Come with me." He grabbed her hand and took her back to his office.

"You didn't!" she exclaimed as he opened the little fridge he kept in his library. With a flourish and a bow, he presented the crystal bowl to her.

"Mrs. Marsh's grandmother's chocolate mousse recipe. We have bowls and spoons by the couch." He led her to his sofa, which had been moved to be in perfect view of the large screen on his wall. As he divvied up dessert, she took off her coat, slipped off her heels and made herself comfortable on the sofa, curling her feet underneath her. There was a DVD case on the coffee table. She picked it up to read front and back.

"Everyone Says I Love You?"

"The clerk suggested it. A love story _and_ one of the characters is some sort of escaped convict. Something for both of us." Gillian stifled a chuckle. Clearly Cal hadn't read the description. "Move over, love." Cal set down the bowls, stripped off his sports coat, and plopped himself in the middle of the sofa, pulling her to him until she was practically sitting on his lap. He handed her a bowl with a generous portion of mousse topped with whipped cream and a strawberry and hit the remote to start the movie. She managed to keep her composure until his spoon clattered in his bowl. "They're singing. Why are they singing?"

"It's a musical, Cal." The look on his face was her undoing. She was in tears before she could catch her breath.

"You're bloody well enjoying this, aren't you?" His tone was bemused.

She nodded, still unsure of her ability to speak. They continued to watch, and she was having as much enjoyment from Cal's low mutterings as from the film itself. When the convict came on again, she cried, "Cal, check out that actor. He looks like your twin."

"He's. Singing." Only Cal could make it sound like an epithet.

"And he's pretty good at it." She grinned when he snorted. "Just look at him, Cal. You could be brothers."

"Well, I told you my dad got around. It wouldn't surprise me."

She hugged against him a little tighter when he mentioned his dad. She looked at him, trying to gauge whether he was saddened by the thought of his father, but he was looking at her with a grin. As their eyes met and held, he slowly took her now empty bowl and placed it on the coffee table. He closed the gap between them and kissed her.

It started slowly, just feather-light kisses, but soon he was outlining her lips with his tongue until she opened her mouth slightly to give him entrance. While he gave her a long, slow, wet kiss, he had one arm around her shoulders and the other stroked her cheek and hair. Her hands were resting on his chest. He tried to pull away to see her expression, but she followed him, keeping their bodies in close contact and refusing to break the kiss. Soon her hands became restless, pulling at his sweater to feel his skin, her hands caressing his back and shoulders. She heard her zipper as it moved and she shivered at the slight chill on her bare back before his hands warmed her. She felt herself being lowered onto the sofa and she pulled him with her until he was lying on top of her. Just as she began to remove his sweater so that she could massage his chest with her hands, he pulled away. Breathing heavily, he caught her hands in his to stop their movement as he whispered in her ear, "No, love. No. Not here."

She was surprised and a little anxious. "Did I do something wrong?"

"God no, love. It's just . . . I don't want our first time to be a quick fumble on the couch." He pulled her back up in a sitting position, but kept her touching as much of him as possible. He kissed her again as he reluctantly zipped up her dress.

Because she could see the desire written all over his face, she didn't feel rejected. "Exactly what do you mean by 'quick'?" she asked coyly.

He laughed. "I don't think you'll have any complaints when it happens." He pulled her to her feet and kept his arms wrapped lightly around her while he kissed her again.

"Well, 'when' is an interesting question." She stepped closer to him, pressing her upper body into his.

He groaned. "Don't tempt me, Gill." He kissed her again, a long, lingering kiss, but before she could reach for his sweater he pulled away until he was just holding her hands. "I want to wait, love."

"Why? Is this because . . ."

"No." He said that emphatically, and she knew he was telling the truth.

"I thought you didn't think of me as the good girl."

He kissed her fingers. "Not that either, love. Call me old-fashioned or presumptuous if you like, but when I finally have you in my bed, I'm not letting you go and I've a sixteen year old daughter who will catch on when you're there for breakfast."

Her eyes widened with understanding. "You mean you want to _wait_ wait."

He nodded. "I'm as stunned as you are, Gill, but I know that if I made love to you tonight I wouldn't ever let you spend another night alone in your apartment."

She already knew the answer, but she had to ask again. "You're sure this doesn't have anything to do with my being raped?"

His grip on her hands tightened slightly. "Look at me, love." She saw Cal completely unmasked. "This is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done. Because you are so dammed sexy and warm and inviting and lovely. Part of me is screaming, 'To hell with it' and wants to drag you back to that couch, but I love you and I don't want to screw this up."

She smiled in wonder at this man. He would always have the ability to surprise her. "I love you, too." She slowly put her arms around his neck, and they met again to kiss. Once, twice, three times, until . . .

"Aauugghh! I need cold air." He grabbed her hands and pulled her back to the balcony. They both faced the capitol, although neither was cognizant of the view. He stood in front of her, but had pulled her arms around him so that she was wrapped around his middle, her cheek resting on his back and shoulder. "You might be the death of me, woman."

She whispered in his ear. "Is it okay if I try to change your mind every so often?"

He turned and grinned wolfishly. "I wouldn't have it any other way." As they smiled at each other, they could hear faint music from the movie still playing in his office. He pulled her to him and began to sway back and forth. Even when the movie ended, they could still be seen dancing. And if you listened really closely, you could hear him humming just so the music wouldn't end and they wouldn't have to let go.


	12. Chapter 12

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate with Cal and Gillian as they enter into the sacrament of marriage." Father Samuel looked out over the guests with a smile. "I've always thought those words were a perfect way to begin a wedding because it _is_ a celebration. And never more so for me than today because of the people involved." He looked to Cal, resplendent in his tux, and Gillian, radiant in her ivory wedding dress. "I've known Gillian . . . what, fifteen or sixteen years now?"

She mouthed, "Sixteen."

"Sixteen years. She was doing her graduate work in psychology at Georgetown. I was finishing my graduate work in Catholic Studies as part of my seminary training. As I recall, it was 7 in the morning and we both were reaching for the last container of chocolate pudding in one of the university's cafeterias. I wish I could say I let her have it, but I wasn't a priest yet and hadn't quite acclimated to the life of sacrifice. Cal, you can blame me, for that day I introduced Gillian to the benefits of orange slushies for breakfast." Cal laughed. "Gillian and I have been friends ever since, most of it long distance as I studied in Rome and traveled for missionary work, but I have seen her during her greatest joys and her darkest challenges. Many things in her life have changed since we first met, but one name has remained constant throughout, and it belongs to the man standing beside her." Gillian handed Emily her flowers and reached for Cal's hand.

"I can actually say that I was there the very first day they met. I can also state categorically that it was _not_ love at first sight. I believe the words Gillian used were 'idiot', 'arrogant', and 'jerk'." The congregation laughed, Cal hardest of all as Gillian ducked her head onto his shoulder. "I tell this story not to embarrass them – that's just a side benefit – but to show that God's plan for us is so much better than our plans for ourselves. Gillian and I were meeting for lunch, and she stormed in about ten minutes late muttering about this 'idiot' who had wandered into her office. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but Cal had commandeered her office by mistake." Cal nodded, motioning for him to continue. "As Gillian explained it to me, she had stepped away for a moment after spending the morning working on a memo about a national security issue. Cal, pacing around in the wrong office for his meeting, saw the draft on her printer and decided to read it. He disagreed with some of her conclusions. She walked back to her desk to find this stranger sitting there writing notes on her memo like 'Bloody ridiculous' and 'Don't be daft'." Laughter could be heard in the church. "An argument ensued, and she threw him out." Cal nodded again with pride and humor, as he put his arm around Gillian's shoulders in a big hug, pulling her back against his chest, both of them listening and chuckling at Father Samuel's recollections.

"It took her about ten minutes to calm down enough to order her lunch, and those of you who know Gillian know how shocking _that_ is." Scattered chuckles. "She placed her order and her cell phone started to ring. How did you even get her number, Cal? She didn't know your name at that point."

"National security clearance," Cal responded.

"Could you hear him? 'National security clearance.'" More laughter. "He had called to continue arguing his points." Loker, Torres, Ben, Patricia, and Doug, along with everyone else who knew Cal well, were nodding. They had no doubt this story was true. "She hung up on him. Twice." Some people were almost in tears they were laughing so hard. "He wouldn't stop calling back. She tried ignoring the phone. It didn't stop ringing. Finally she answered, and it took another five minutes for her to get him to stop talking. I think she had to promise to meet him that afternoon to discuss it further." She nodded and leaned further into Cal as he rubbed her cheek with his chin. "Gillian, did you end up changing any of your conclusions as a result of his comments?"

"A few." Cal kissed her temple.

"She said, 'A few.'" More chuckling. "The last thing she said to me when lunch was over was, 'Thank God I don't have to work with that 'arrogant jerk.' I pity the poor people stuck on _his_ team.'" The rafters shook with laughter, and Cal wrapped his arms around Gillian's middle, squeezing tightly as they smiled at each other. "Never say God doesn't have a sense of humor. It was about a year later that she joined Cal's team, voluntarily I might add, and about two or three years later that they started The Lightman Group together. And during Cal's brightest moments and darkest days, Gillian and his wonderful daughter Emily," he smiled at Gillian's maid of honor dressed in a beautiful shade of blue and giddy with happiness at the day, "were his unfailing sources of support."

Father Samuel looked at Gillian and Cal with admiration. "I love the story of how they met because it says so much about them as individuals and as a couple. The passion Cal showed about a stranger's memo is the same passion with which he lives his life. He's passionate about finding the truth, he's passionate about his friends, he's passionate about Emily and being the best father possible to her, and he is passionate about Gillian. And Gillian," he smiled at her, "the woman I claim as my little sister, she stood toe to toe with Cal and didn't blink. And those of you who know Cal know _that's_ no mean feat." The murmur of agreement could be heard. "Her passions run just as strong, especially when it comes to Cal and Emily. She is intelligent and fearless and open-minded and loyal and as beautiful on the inside as she is to look at. They have such a strong friendship to rely on as they take this next step. As friends and now as a couple they push each other to be better versions of themselves, yet they support and love each other unconditionally. You know, each of them has described the other to me as their sanctuary, which I think is a wonderfully fitting word for this occasion in this building. They are each other's sacred place, a refuge where they feel safest. When I see them together, I know they are home. I've been blessed to watch their relationship grow from that rocky first day to respected colleagues to partners to close friends and now we gather here today to celebrate with them as they take the next step in their journey. As they prepare to say their vows, I've watched them already live them out. The commitment they've shown to each other all these years has been a blessing to us all. Thank you both for letting us be witnesses to the love you share and will profess today."

As they readied themselves for their vows, Cal remembered that fateful day. He walked into the wrong office, and his entire life changed. She added beauty and laughter and _grace_ to his life. And now she stood before him, smiling as she waited to hear his promise, words he had been waiting a lifetime to say to her:

"I, Cal, take you, Gillian, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life."

Gillian's eyes sparkled with the shine of unshed tears. This man in front of her, how long had she loved him? He had stormed into her life that fateful day, had seeped into every nook and cranny until she couldn't imagine being without him. And now he stood before her, grinning as he waited to hear her promise, words she had been waiting a lifetime to say to him:

"I, Gillian, take you, Cal, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life."

Gillian smiled as she placed Cal's wedding band on his finger. For all his tribal artifacts, tattoos, and modern art, he was a traditionalist when it came to their wedding. A simple gold band engraved with "love, Gillian" and the date slid onto the third finger of his left hand. Hers was a simple platinum band engraved with "love, Cal" and the date, a perfect match to the 2 carat solitaire diamond engagement ring he tossed onto her desk a few short months ago when they were working late. He had called from the hallway as he walked away, "You know I'm not a 'down on one knee' sort of fellow." She sat stunned with the box in hand, then chased him into his office. Only he wasn't there; she marched to the balcony where he stood with roses, a smile, and a question.

Their kiss was long and sweet, and they practically ran down the aisle at the recessional. An usher showed them to a private room where they could have a few moments alone. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her again. "How long do we have to stay at the reception?"

"Well, there's dinner and dancing."

"Two hours tops, wife of mine. Then we are officially on our honeymoon. I will nail the 'Do Not Disturb' sign to our door."

She laughed. "We will need sustenance at some point, Cal."

He whispered in her ear as he nibbled it. "I have an entire suitcase filled with chocolate pudding."

She purred, "A man after my own heart. It's no wonder I love you," as she snaked her arms around his neck and kissed him again.

All too soon there was a quiet knock on the door. "Excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Lightman? The photographer is ready for you."

They reluctantly pulled away. He grinned as he reached into his tux pocket to hand over her lipstick and small mirror. As they walked back down the aisle toward Emily, who was practically dancing around the altar with happiness, they heard a quiet cough behind them. They turned.

"Zoe," Gillian walked forward, "thanks so much for coming."

She smiled ruefully back. "I know I didn't RSVP, but I didn't decide to come until today." Gillian nodded understandingly. "I just wanted to offer my congratulations. I know you'll be happy."

"Will we see you at the reception?"

Zoe shook her head. "I have plans with Roger. I just decided it was important to be here today for the ceremony."

Just then the photographer called for Mrs. Lightman. Gillian's face lit up as she thanked Zoe for coming and excused herself.

Cal stayed with Zoe for a moment. "It means a lot to us that you came."

She laughed, "This is a far cry from the five minutes in the judge's office when we got married. I didn't realize you'd come back to the church."

He nodded as he looked at Gillian. "It's been a journey back here for both of us."

"Did she invite Alec, too?"

"Yeah, she did. He declined."

"Cal, you don't have to answer . . . I'm just curious. . . Did you see any doubts on the altar from her?"

He smiled. "Not a bloody one."

"The two of you were meant to be." He rested his hand on her arm for a moment, squeezing it gently in appreciation. Just then the photographer called for the groom. "Your wife needs you, Cal. I'll see you both when you get back from your honeymoon. Tell Emily not to wait up for me." He nodded, but didn't look back. He just patted her arm and then hurried to the altar where she was waiting. Waiting for him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Epilogue - Scenes from Their Marriage**

_**Wedding Night**_

"I thought we'd never get out of there. They just wouldn't leave." Cal placed Gillian gently on the bed after carrying her over the threshold of the hotel suite and then flopped down beside her.

"We invited them, Cal. They were entitled to stay for dinner and dancing."

"You owe me, wife. I told you only two hours at the reception, and we stayed," he made a great show of checking his watch, "four."

"Hmm," she smiled as she started to roll over on top of him. "How can I ever make it up to you?"

He grinned and then turned very serious. "Okay, love, I'm setting some ground rules for us. No, none of that until we agree to the terms." He stilled her hands and moved her on her back while he stood up.

"You're serious." She sat up, her wedding dress billowing around her. "Cal, you don't seem the type to have rules for lovemaking."

"I only have one." He kept eye contact with her as he pulled her to a stand in front of him. "If at any point I do anything, _anything_ that makes you in the least uncomfortable, you let me know. Are we clear?"

"How is it that I fell more in love with you just now?"

"I'm serious, love. No doing something you don't like just 'cause you think I will. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Okay, then. Where were we?"

And she showed him.

_**One Month Later**_

Gillian finished brushing her teeth and hair and walked over to the bed. "It's been a crazy week. I am really looking forward to this weekend. What do you want to do tomorrow?"

"Hmm?"

She looked at him. Bare-chested, he was sitting in bed reading one of their scientific journals. He looked adorable in his reading glasses. She leaned toward him. "I asked what you wanted to do tomorrow."

"That sounds good." He absentmindedly patted her hand as he turned the page.

"So much for the black lingerie," she murmured.

"It looks nice on you." He never looked up, just started jotting notes on the margins of the article.

"Wow, the honeymoon really is over." She chuckled and grabbed one of her romance novels, the one with the cover Cal especially hated. She crawled into bed with him. "Since you're reading I'm going to read, too."

"That's nice, love."

"Oh, Thor. Why can't all men be just like you?" She looked at Cal out of the corner of her eye. He read a few more sentences before her comment fully registered.

"Thor?" He looked at her. "Who names a child Thor?"

"Oh, you wouldn't be interested, Cal. Just one of my romance novels." He grunted and went back to his article. "You see, Thor is a Viking and he captured Isabella's father on one of his raids. She stowed away on Thor's boat to save him, and he's just discovered her. The typical bodice ripper nonsense." She sighed loudly. "Every woman's secret fantasy."

A beat of five. "What do you mean every woman's secret fantasy?"

"No, no, I'm interrupting you. Go ahead and finish your article. It looks important."

But he was already pulling off his glasses. "I could be persuaded . . ."

"No, honey. You keep right on reading. I'm so tired I would probably just fall asleep in the middle of it anyway." She rolled over, stifling laughter when her book was torn from her hands and thrown across the room. She was pulled flat on her back, an intense Cal looming over her. He ravaged her mouth with his lips, tongue, teeth. When he leaned back his eyes were challenging, "You'd _fall asleep_?"

When she caught her breath she retorted, "I look _nice_?"

His laugh started low and ended loud. Holding her in place he slowly pulled back the sheets and looked at her. When his eyes travelled back to her face, they showed equal parts amusement and desire. He kissed her soundly. As he divested her of her lingerie and nibbled up her neck, he whispered in her ear, "Well played, Gillian Lightman. Well played."

_**Four Months Later**_

"Where is she?" Cal ran through the sliding doors, barely waiting to let them open. "What happened?"

Ben met him at the entrance. "We don't exactly know yet, Cal. She was talking with Loker when she doubled over in pain. There was some bleeding." Cal didn't stop, just continued running down the hallway. Ben had to sprint just to keep up with him. "Cal, Loker and Torres are waiting for us on the fifth floor." He tried to guide Cal to the elevators, but Cal found the stairwell and took the stairs two at a time. Ben had no choice but to follow.

Cal opened the door; his breathing caught and heart stopped when he saw it was the surgical floor. He found Loker standing at the entrance of the waiting area and never broke stride as he ran to him, Ben hot on his heels. Loker met them partway. "Loker, what the hell happened?"

"I don't know, Cal. We were watching film when I noticed her wincing. By the time I got to her she was doubled over in pain. She said it was just cramps, but Torres pointed to blood on the floor. By that time Ben arrived. We got her here as fast as we could."

Torres joined Loker as soon as she saw Cal. "Loker did it all, Cal. When Gillian started to argue about coming, he just picked her up and carried her to the car. The ER doc took her as the top priority. After about fifteen minutes he called for a surgeon. That's when we finally got ahold of you."

"Was she awake?"

"The whole time," Loker hastened to reassure him. "She never lost consciousness. She didn't want us to bother you while you were giving your speech, but I knew you would want to be here."

Cal gave him a ghost of a smile and patted his arm as he looked around. "Thanks, Loker. Where in bloody hell is someone who works here?" He started pacing the hallway, looking for anyone who could give him more information. Torres motioned to Ben, who shadowed him.

After another hour or so Cal was ready to terrorize his third set of nurses. Finally the automatic doors opened and a young surgeon made his way to the waiting room. Cal saw him first and met him in the hallway. "What can you tell me about Gillian Lightman?"

"Are you her husband?" The doctor looked at all the faces who now surrounded them.

"Yes, I'm Cal Lightman. Is she okay?"

"Yes, she is going to be fine." There was a large group sigh and Ben punched Loker's shoulder in relief. "I'm Dr. Calhoun. Why don't you come with me so we can talk privately?"

"They're all family, Doctor. They can stay." Ben, Loker, and Torres got a little choked up at Cal's matter-of-fact statement.

"Well, your wife had an ectopic pregnancy, which means the fetus attached itself to one of her Fallopian tubes instead of the uterus. The tube ruptured and there was internal bleeding, which is the worst case scenario in these situations, but we caught it early enough to intervene surgically. Mrs. Lightman lost a fair amount of blood, but she is going to be okay."

Cal looked for deception leakage, but the doctor was being completely honest with him. "Thank God she'll be okay." He exhaled the breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Wait, Gillian was pregnant? We weren't trying to . . . I mean, she was told she can't conceive. She can? Is there a chance . . ."

The doctor shook his head. "No, Mr. Lightman. She did get pregnant this time, but her Fallopian tubes are quite damaged. No fertilized egg can be transported through them to her uterus. If she were to conceive again, it would most likely result in another ectopic pregnancy. Actually, I would highly recommend that the two of you make sure she doesn't."

"I need to see her."

"Certainly. She should be in recovery for another hour or so and then you'll be able to . . ."

"No, Doctor. I need to see her now."

Dr. Calhoun studied him carefully. "I'll see what I can do." He nodded at the others and walked back into the surgical unit.

Cal stood for a moment with his head bowed and his hands jammed into his pockets. Ben, Loker, and Torres looked at each other, silently asking what they could do. Finally, Loker put a tentative arm around Cal's shoulder. "Sorry, boss." He stepped back. "Do you need one of us to call Emily for you?"

Cal came to. "No, she's at her mom's tonight. I'll talk to her later after I see Gillian." Just then a nurse came out and motioned to him to follow her. "Thanks, everyone. Loker . . . thanks. Tell Heidi to give you your paychecks."

Loker was surprised and a little insulted. "Cal, I didn't do anything special and certainly not to get back on the payroll."

"You took care of my wife when I wasn't there, which is damn special to me. I know you didn't do it for the money, and don't argue with me. We put you back on salary four months ago, but I wanted to see how long it would take you to ask. Testing your loyalty, against Gillian's wishes . . . well, I just got my answer. Go ask Heidi for your checks. Tell her I said it was okay." He walked quickly into the unit.

The three of them stood for a moment. "Wow," Loker said, as much to himself as to the others. "Did you see his face for that brief moment he thought they could have children? I didn't even know he wanted more."

Ben shook his head. "Not fair, man."

Torres was pensive. "There's got to be something we can do."

"About this?" Ben asked. "There's not a thing in the world we can do to help them in this situation."

"I wonder." She didn't elaborate, but remained thoughtful as they drove back to the office and then went their separate ways.

_**Six Months Later**_

Torres poked her head into the lab. "Loker, have you seen the Lightmans?"

Loker looked up from the film he was marking. "I haven't seen Gillian since this morning. Cal is in his office working on their book."

"Okay. I've got visitors and wanted to give them the grand tour. Anything they're not allowed to see?"

Loker shook his head as he gestured to the film. "No state secrets. This is just more film for the Spilling case. Haven't seen much worth talking about anyway. Who are your friends?"

Torres ushered in two women. "Loker, this is my mom's half sister Marissa and her friend Kathy. This is Eli Loker, and this is where I work."

Loker got up to shake hands and say hello. They exclaimed over the lab and all its bells and whistles, and Loker amused them and himself by lighting up the cube. He explained what they did and showed some of Cal's exercises to the women. "Wow," Marissa said. "I can't believe you understand all this, Ria. And Cal says you're a natural?"

"Yep." Loker responded. "She is."

"But I still have a lot to learn. The Lightmans are the best around. Cal actually created the entire science."

Marissa and Kathy looked suitably impressed. Kathy asked, "We will get a chance to meet them, right?"

Marissa said, "That is kinda the point here," a remark that confused Loker, but Torres quickly responded, "Absolutely. Maybe we can just go to his office now."

Loker shook his head. "He's working on their book and has already missed the first deadline. Gillian gave strict orders not to interrupt him."

"How's it going?"

Just then they heard a crash and a male voice yell, "Bloody hell!"

Loker shrugged. "Not well."

A few moments later the lab door opened, and Cal stalked in. Clad in suit pants and a button down shirt that might have been ironed once upon a lifetime ago, he was twirling his glasses and scowling. "I need a break and haven't seen Gillian all day. What are you working on in here?"

Loker immediately put the film up on the large screen. "We've got the Spilling case right now. So far --"

"Is that the CEO who was kidnapped and killed right after he spoke at the corporate retreat and announced all the layoffs?" Marissa interjected.

"Who are you?" Cal walked toward her, and she backed up slightly, a little intimidated meeting the man himself after all the stories Torres had told.

"Cal, this is my Aunt Marissa and her friend Kathy. I've been telling them about my work and they wanted to see the office. I hope that's okay." Torres's voice was tentative. The plan was in action, but she was no longer sure it was her best idea.

Now that he had an official excuse to take a break, he grinned. "Welcome to The Lightman Group. Torres is quite an asset here. And you are exactly right about the Spilling case. You want to see how this all works?"

Both Marissa and Kathy nodded, smiling broadly. "Yes, please."

"Loker, start rolling that film. Now the FBI thinks maybe a disgruntled employee masterminded the kidnapping plot. They've asked us to review the footage from the retreat and look for any unusual reactions from the crowd. Loker, can you pull up something for Torres to read for them?"

Because Cal was looking at Loker, he missed the micro-expressions Torres was flashing. Loker, on the other hand, gave Torres a puzzled expression as he fast-forwarded through the film for certain moments. Cal asked Torres to read the expressions and then patiently explained the science behind the readings for the women. They were impressed with the work and delighted with all the attention.

After about thirty minutes, Loker cleared his throat nervously. "Cal, we don't want to keep you. Gillian gave us strict orders not to disturb you until your chapters were done."

"Can't ignore our guests, Loker. Don't worry about Gill. She'll understand."

"But, Cal . . ."

"Loker, don't argue with me. Remember it's my name on the door."

"That's funny. I thought it was _our_ name on the door." Marissa and Kathy couldn't help sighing when they saw Cal's expression light up in pure joy. They looked behind him to see the person who just had to be Gillian. Dressed impeccably in a red sheath dress, she leaned against the door frame and gave her husband a piercing look. Their first glance of the couple together reminded them of the old adage about opposites attracting.

"There you are, love." He turned and walked quickly toward her. "I was looking for you everywhere, and then Torres and Loker needed my help on the Spilling case. Tried to get them to do it themselves, but you know how they are."

Her look tried to remain stern, but her eyes were twinkling. "Liar. I was at a client meeting. New case. Are you done with _your_ chapters? Our editor is breathing down _my_ neck."

"I'll have to work on them tonight. I left my notes at the house. Let's talk about the new case." He rubbed his hands together.

She held up a large folder. "Would your notes happen to be in this folder that you took home yesterday because you swore under penalty of death that you were going to finish your editing last night? Yet, as I recall this folder never moved from your briefcase."

"Well, I was going to work last night, but as I recall _someone_ distracted me." He wrapped his arms around her loosely and grinned as her face threatened to match her dress.

"Cal!" She gave a half-hearted attempt to move away.

Loker groaned, "Oh, God, it's like thinking about your parents having sex."

Cal took the folder from Gillian and flipped through it before setting it down. "You're a lifesaver, Gill. Everyone close your eyes so I can give my wife a proper thanks." He grabbed her and bent her backwards as he kissed her. To be honest, all of them peeked just a little. He stood her upright and ducked the swat of her hand. "Have you met Torres's friends?"

As she walked over to the women, Cal walked to Loker's desk and cuffed him on the back of the head.

"Ow!"

"That's for the 'parents' remark." Loker grinned at Cal as he rubbed his head.

Gillian said to Marissa and Kathy, "It's so nice to meet some of Ria's family. And please ignore Cal. He gets this way when he's trying to avoid work." She turned toward him, "Go finish please."

Cal waved to the women as he headed toward the door. As he got to the threshold, he turned back. "By the way, Loker, rewind the film about five minutes." Everyone immediately turned back to the screen. "Play it." They watched for a moment. "Did you see it?"

Marissa and Kathy were perplexed. They looked to Loker and Torres, but they looked just as confused. Gillian's face lit up. Cal smiled, "You got it, Gill."

"Woman in the second row. That's an interesting twist to the case."

"Third seat. Exactly. Replay it, Loker. Anyone else see anything?"

Torres responded, "Anger, but why shouldn't she be angry? He just announced layoffs."

Gillian spoke, "No, Ria. Watch it again, and notice the timing."

They all did. Even knowing the person to focus on didn't help Marissa or Kathy. Suddenly Torres got it. "She flashed anger _after_ everyone else had already reacted to the layoffs. She got angry when he mentioned his wife."

Gillian and Cal nodded. Loker snorted, "Well, that certainly blows up the FBI's theory. Either scorned mistress or unhinged employee with a deadly obsession for her boss. We'll watch old footage and see if we can find film of them together. We need to know who she is."

Gillian spoke softly. "Don't get too far ahead of yourself, Eli. We know her reaction is off, but we don't know why yet. There could be other explanations, but at least we have a promising lead now."

Cal responded, "Gill's right, Loker. Have fun, you two. It's your case. Let us know if you need our help." He smiled as he left.

"Damn. I missed it. How did the two of you do that?" Torres exclaimed.

"Years of practice." Gillian patted her shoulder. "You're doing great."

She excused herself and walked out of the lab. A few moments later they heard another crash and a plaintive "Gillian!" She walked back in with a smile, picked up the folder Cal left behind, and headed into his office.

Loker watched her leave and then spun around in his chair. "I don't know about you, but happy Cal still weirds me out a little bit."

Torres turned to Kathy, "What do you think?"

Kathy smiled, "Yeah, I'd love to help them. Do you want to talk to her first or him?"

Loker asked, "Talk to them about what?" When no one responded, he looked at Torres. "Wow, you've been nervous since Cal walked in. What's going on?"

Torres took a moment to answer. "Remember when we took Gillian to the ER and the doctor said they couldn't have children? Marissa is a nurse at a fertility clinic in West Virginia. I asked her if there was some way we could help them. She met Kathy two years ago when she was a surrogate for another couple, and they've remained friends. When Kathy mentioned that she was ready to help someone else have a child, Marissa told her about the Lightmans. She wanted to meet them."

"Wow, does either of them know anything about it?"

"No. I didn't want to get their hopes up. You know how devastated they were." Loker nodded. Torres was still haunted by the looks on Cal's face that afternoon. She had never really seen him lose control, yet in the span of five minutes she saw his fear until the doctor told him Gillian was going to be okay, flashes of surprise, hope, and utter joy when the doctor initially mentioned her pregnancy, and the complete devastation when the doctor said unequivocally that Gillian could not carry a baby to term. He insisted on telling Gillian himself; they didn't see that conversation, but Torres had a good enough imagination to know how it went. Cal still hovered over her and those who knew to look for it could still see the pain in their eyes.

Kathy spoke up, "Since, she just got pregnant not that long ago, it means she still might be able to use her own eggs if she's ovulating. I'll only agree to be a gestational surrogate."

Loker threw up his hands, "Man in the room and way more information than I ever want to know about my boss. Torres, you know this is a high risk venture, right?"

Torres smiled nervously. "Can't hurt to ask."

"I'm sorry, have you met Cal? You know how private Gillian is and how protective he is of her. You're about to tell him you discussed their most intimate issues with people they don't know. Of course it can hurt."

"I'm going to call it a late wedding gift."

"Not exactly something off the registry, Ria." Loker watched the three women head for Cal's office. He wondered if he would be attending any of their funerals in the days to come.

_Two Years Later_

"No, Kate, no!" Cal sprinted across the kitchen, but it was too late. "Kathryn Elizabeth, we eat our bananas. We do not wear them." He tried to sound strict, but it was hard to stay angry at a nine month old who had her mother's blue eyes and said, "Da Da!" with such enthusiasm on a regular basis.

"What's happening down there? Do you need any help?"

"It's okay, Gill. Kate just decided to dump her bananas."

"Quick! Stop Rebecca before she copies her!"

Cal turned just in time to see the bananas smeared all over his other daughter's head, face, and lap. "Rebecca Louise, you heard me tell Kate no. Why would you do that?" She grinned, her mother's eyes again twinkling at him. He couldn't resist; he kissed them both as he took their plates to the sink and rinsed out two towels for the major clean-up. Gillian met him in the kitchen and tried to take one of them. "No, love, I've got them. You need to finish getting ready."

"Cal, this will only take a few minutes." She turned to look at their little girls and started to laugh. "On second thought, Emily is going to have her hands full tonight. Should we go ahead and bathe them now?"

"And let her miss out on all the fun?"

She chuckled as she took a towel and started wiping off Rebecca, kissing the top of her head. "I thought Emily would be here by now. You need to start getting ready as well, Cal. Your tux is hanging in the closet." He groaned. "Don't try to get out of it. Just think of it as networking at the highest level."

"Like we need more work. We're already swamped as it is. How did you talk me into this again?"

"It's your queen the president is honoring."

"That's right. That also reminds me," Cal grabbed one of the newest family photos from the refrigerator and tucked it into the pocket of his jeans. "Remind me to take this tonight. The last time the president asked to see a picture of the girls I only had an old one. He gave me such grief about it."

"The two of you are incorrigible when you're together." Just then they heard a door open. "Emily, is that you? We're in the kitchen."

"Hi, Gill! Hi, Dad! Sorry I'm late, but the movie ran longer than I thought. Where are my favorite sisters?" She rounded the corner and stopped. Then she started to laugh, "And why are they wearing their dinner? Dad must have fed them."

"Hey! It's not my fault they both have Gillian's angelic face . . ."

Emily interjected, "and your personality," as she kissed him.

Gillian laughed. "They are definitely going to be a handful tonight. Do you need reinforcements?"

"Already got them. Melanie should be here any minute. She's the youngest of six and has like a zillion nieces and nephews. We'll be fine."

"Who's Melanie?"

"Max's new girlfriend."

"Oh, I remember her. Okay then. But no boys in the house."

"_I_ _know_, _Dad_."

Thirty minutes later Melanie and Emily had bathed the twins, and Gillian and Cal were kissing them goodbye. "Alright, Em, both Gill and I have our cell phones so call if you have any questions or need us for anything."

"You told me that, Dad. We will."

"They shouldn't be hungry, but I have breast milk ready to go in bottles in the fridge that they'll want before going to sleep. Do you remember how to heat them up?"

"You already mentioned that, Gillian, and yes I do remember."

"Did I mention how grateful we are that both of you are willing to babysit for us tonight?"

"Yes, Gillian. Twice now. You two are going to be late. Go have fun. Don't start a world war, Dad. Remember, we _like_ Great Britain."

"Cheeky."

"Go. We'll be fine. Won't we, girls?"

On cue, Kate and Rebecca giggled as Melanie and Emily helped them wave bye-bye.

Cal took the hint. With his hand on the small of her back, he escorted Gillian out the door and to the waiting limo.

"I know it's silly, but I'm going to miss them."

Cal just smiled as he reached in his pocket for her tissues and compact and handed them to her. When she finished, he tucked them away again and pulled her into his arms. "Have I told you today how beautiful you are?"

"Actually, three times, and one was when I was knee-deep in dirty diapers."

"You were especially beautiful then, surrounded by our daughters. I'm the luckiest bloke alive."

She snuggled even closer and nuzzled his cheek. "I'm the one who's blessed. Happy almost anniversary, Cal."

"Happy almost anniversary, love of my life."

**The End**


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